


Princes, Priestesses, Lords & Ladies

by dentedsky



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-30
Updated: 2010-08-30
Packaged: 2018-10-19 15:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dentedsky/pseuds/dentedsky
Summary: The king of dragonlords has come to Camelot to sign the peace treaty. There’s a royal banquet, a royal duel, a royal betrothal and in Prince Merlin’s honest opinion, Prince Arthur is a royal pain. All goes wrong when Prince Arthur accidently proposes to Prince Merlin and, due to an ancient law, the betrothal becomes binding.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Princes, Priestesses, Lords and Ladies](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/284151) by zitianos. 



> Reposting old 2010 fic from LiveJournal.

_Prologue_

  
  
In a far away corner of the land of Albion there was a small kingdom which was ruled by a king hardened by war and his queen, who was as fair as he was dark, and whose heart held pure kindness. It was a kingdom unlike no other: the islands floated not on water, but on air, above the land and near the mountains, just below the clouds. On one of the islands in the centre there stood a great hall whose vast ceilings and walls were painted with murals of kings long past, valkyries and dragons. One wall could slide open magically, where there was a ledge, so that the dragons could come to the hall, perch on the ledge and confer with the king and his court.  
  
Across from the great hall was another island. There the king stood, one hand placed on the flank of the Great Dragon. The king looked up at the clear blue sky, then down at his manservant, who was securing the king’s luggage on the Great Dragon’s back, then to his other subjects and dragons – until finally his eyes rested onto his queen’s upturned face. She was watching him – she knew him so well - and knew that he was apprehensive of the upcoming journey to the kingdom of Camelot.  
  
The wind blew, ruffling the small loose strands of her hair.  
  
He repeated the words he had said to her last night, in their chambers: “King Uther killed my father, my brothers; and now we must make peace with him – “  
  
The Great Dragon shuffled where he stood next to the king and the king gave his dragon a small comforting rub on his scales. The queen looked at her husband with sympathy. “Uther almost destroyed all the dragonlords before,” she reminded him patiently. “This peace treaty will ensure our kingdom is safe for years to come.”  
  
Under the king’s hand, the dragon shook as he huffed out a short, humourless laugh. “The treaty is not the only reason we are attending the summit,” he growled, his great voice echoing through his body. He sounded reproving as he added quietly, “You know this, Balinor.”  
  
The dragon turned his head to look behind the king and queen. They too turned; Sleipnir, the queen’s dragon, looked on curiously.  
  
Some metres away, Prince Merlin was talking to his servant as the servant was securing the reins on the prince’s dragon. The servant said something in reply and Merlin laughed heartily, face lit up with mirth. Just as he was sobering he looked over at his parents and his grin grew wide once again.  
  
“Ah, to be young again,” the Great Dragon murmured, looking away.  
  
Now it was the queen’s turn to be reproving, glaring at the dragon as much as she would dare. “When should we tell him – “  
  
“Not a moment too soon,” the dragon answered sharply; “when the time is right he will ask, and we will answer.”  
  
Meanwhile, south-east of the kingdom of dragonlords, over the mountain where the trolls dwelt and the forests where the valkyries were native, over the hills and towns that made up King Olaf’s kingdom, past the great Ifing river, over the forest of Asatir, past the towns of Engad and Ealdor and over the shores in Cenred’s kingdom, flowed the Great Sea of Meredor. And over this untameable, blue ocean three large ships sailed fast towards Port Nareides of King Uther’s kingdom.  
  
Carved into the bow of the leading ship was the sea monster Leviathan, while the other two ships, spread out behind the first like wings, had the Lady carved into them. She was depicted holding out her hands to the sky as if begging the gods for rain.  
  
At each bow stood a woman. The lead priestess, dark hair flowing behind her, looked over her shoulder at the woman on the bow to her right, and smirked in triumph. Her expression seemed to say, ‘We are so close. Not long now...’ The other priestess - blonde hair in strands but no less beautiful - nodded stoically in reply, before casting her eyes out to the sea once again.  
  
The dark-haired woman turned her head to check on the priestess on the bow of the left ship. This priestess was barely a woman: soft features and doe eyes, blonde flowing hair long past her waist. She gave the leader a differential nod, as she was not as high in the hierarchy as the other priestess.  
  
Just as the highest priestess looked once again forward to study the horizon, the dragonlords on the opposite corner of the land departed from their floating islands in the sky and flew over the mountains to the south. Towards the centre of the land, through the forests of Balor, the druids rode their horses, coloured robes flowing behind them. In the lead was the High Chieftain, who was elected to represent all druid territories. Next to him a young boy rode on a unicorn, the cowl of his robe pulled low over his pale face and wide, blue eyes. It would not be long before they would cross the border into Cenred’s kingdom.  
  
Much later, when the priestesses had arrived at Port Nareides, and the druids had stopped in the town of Enged for a short rest, the dragonlords flew over Odin’s southern border into King Uther’s lands.  
  
Air rushing past his ears and the afternoon sun hot on the side of his face, King Balinor leaned over Kilgharrah’s shoulders and asked him, shouting against the wind, “Do you feel it? The change in the air?”  
  
“I do, my king,” the dragon boomed, “I do.”

 

 

_Part One_

  
  
There was much work to be done in the castle: airing out the tapestries, sweeping and then washing floors, washing of the linen, scrubbing out the chamber pots... Guinevere thanked her lucky stars she didn’t have to do that last one.  
  
She and five other maids walked out into the private castle garden, hefting pots of flowers. The pots were placed in rows and rows; petals delicate and open, beautiful colours blooming under the spring sun. Guinevere straightened and rubbed her back with sore fingers, letting out a small moan. Next to her Lydia did the same and they exchanged smiles.  
  
Next they had to dust all the furniture in the disused rooms. The housekeeper had told them that _all_ the rooms were to be used when the kings and leaders stayed. They would arrive in two days’ time.  
  
Towards the end of the day, Guinevere was tasked with cleaning the windows on the ground floor. She was nearly finished with the west facing window when she felt hands cover her eyes.  
  
“Ohh,” she cried, “I can’t see!”  
  
There was a snicker from behind her.  
  
“Unhand me foul beast,” she continued, “else I shall attack you with this dirty rag!” She shook the rag for emphasis.  
  
“Oh no!” said the voice behind her, deep and laughing. “No not the rag, anything but that!”  
  
Guinevere’s cousin Tristan released her and she spun around, fists on her hips. But they were grinning at each other. “Saw you down here, couldn’t resist. Apologies Gwen.”  
  
She wacked him on the arm. “You should be sorry.”  
  
He gave her a little twirl now, dark red cloak flowing down his back and around his ankles, the colour strangely complimenting his dark complexion.  
  
She nodded in appreciation. “ _Very_ nice. I’m sorry I missed the ceremony,” she added sincerely.  
  
He shrugged. “That’s alright; I know you’ve been very busy.” He looked around at the very clean corridor. “How goes the preparations?”  
  
Her tired huff was exaggerated. “Hard work. But we’re right on schedule.”  
  
Just then the doors to the hall opened and Sir Leon walked through. He looked up and down the corridor until he spotted them. “You,” he said, pointing at Guinevere. “The king will see you now.”  
  
She froze and blinked a few times. Leon turned to Tristan. “Are you Sir Tristan?”  
  
Tristan puffed out his chest, proud of the title. “Indeed I am.”  
  
“The king will see you also.”  
  
She walked into the hall in apprehension – though this was not the first time the king had called for the nearest servant. She followed Tristan in and Leon shut the door behind them. The slam of the door made her jump a little.  
  
King Uther and Prince Arthur were standing together at the table, studying what appeared to be large maps spread out before them. They did not acknowledge Guinevere or Tristan’s presence – that too, was not out of the ordinary. All they could do was stand at the edge and wait patiently.  
  
The king’s lips were pressed together in suppressed anger. He slid a finger over the right side of the map. “This here is druid territory. King Alined and Cenred have allowed them to occupy their own lands. It is for this reason Cenred has invited these pagans to sign the peace treaty, and Alined is in support of this because he has much to lose should the druids try to take more.”  
  
Prince Arthur looked far less angry, though he did seem concerned. He leaned forward a little more and spread his ring-adorned fingers on the hard table. “Then we should allow them to come.”  
  
King Uther’s mouth twisted. “The druids have a reputation for using magic,” he told Arthur in clipped tones. “Though I must admit they are not the greatest of our worries. King Cenred has also invited the priestesses of the Isle of the Blessed.”  
  
The prince straightened a little and blinked looked to his father, searching his face. “Why would he do that?”  
  
King Uther shook his head slowly. “I know not his motivation. The Isle is closest to his lands; perhaps he wishes to ensure they are bound by the treaty.”  
  
“That makes sense.”  
  
The king straightened and looked away. He tapped his fingers on the table in hesitation. Tristan shuffled where he stood. Prince Arthur waited patiently.  
  
The king said finally, “Those who practice magic cannot be trusted.”  
  
Prince Arthur nodded once. “Yes, Father.”  
  
A hesitant pause. “King Balinor of the dragonlords is also set to arrive.”  
  
Surprise and interest flashed across the prince’s face before he smoothed it over once again. The king put his hand on his sword at his hip, and he strode slowly around the room. “Those who practice magic will do everything in their power to destroy us,” he said lowly, talking almost to himself. “These priestesses and prophets and dragonlords – “ He clenched his jaw. “They will be staying here, in this castle. But we must not let them undermine us, or trick us. We must be vigilant.  
  
“Twenty years ago the dragonlords attacked this kingdom. We managed to turn the war in our favour and they were almost eradicated. They would have been had the king at the time not hid his youngest son in Cenred’s kingdom. No matter how hard we looked our knights could not find him.” He clenched his jaw. “That son is now king, and the dragonlords are prosperous once again. But he would not have forgotten.” He put a hand on Prince Arthur’s shoulder. “He may try something. I want to you keep an eye on him, but also to stay safe.”  
  
The prince’s face remained carefully emotionless. “I understand, Father.”  
  
“Good.” The conversation over, he turned to Guinevere. “How goes the preparation of the castle for the summit?”  
  
“Well, my lord,” she answered, willing courage into her voice even if she did not feel it. “The castle is now completely cleaned. I believe the kitchens are already stocked. All we have left to do is furnish the rooms with linen and flowers.”  
  
“Good,” he repeated. “There are to be no special furnishings for the magic users, including – “ Here the king allowed a small bubble of laughter to escape, “including _flowers_.”  
  
The prince snorted and Guinevere blushed in embarrassment. The flowers had been her idea, and she had thought it was a nice touch. She belatedly realised she was better off not mentioning them at all.  
  


*

  
  
King Alined and his entourage arrived in the city first. “Alined,” Uther greeted the king in dark grey, upon his arrival. “You are welcome on this momentous occasion.”  
  
“Momentous?” asked Alined rhetorically, as he and Uther gripped forearms in greeting. “Let us hope so.”  
  
As Camelot’s servants showed Alined’s party to their quarters, King Cenred and his queen arrived. King Cenred was a proud man, with a handsome face and hard eyes. His queen was similar appearance, with pinched features and an imperious nature. Formal greetings were exchanged, and while Cenred had caught his father in conversation about the city’s pros and cons, the druids arrived.  
  
Arthur went to them in his father’s stead, knowing that if his father went his demeanour would appear inhospitable and cold. He schooled his featured into polite respect as he approached the party, who were dressed in cotton robes of different colours. The leader of the group was a tall, dark man with a kind face. Another man, in what appeared to Arthur as warrior’s robes, helped a young boy from his horse –  
  
No, Arthur amended, his unicorn.  
  
The leader walked forward as soon as he spotted Arthur’s approach. He spread his hands wide. “Prince Arthur, I presume?”  
  
“Greetings,” said Arthur evenly, stopping just in front of the group. He cleared his throat. “Welcome to Camelot.”  
  
A small smile crept itself across the man’s face as if he was amused by a secret, but he did not seem unkind. He held out his large hand to be shaken. “I am Aglain, High Chieftain of the druid Territories to the east.”  
  
Arthur shook his hand firmly. Aglain appeared to be about to introduce the rest of his party, when Arthur saw another king and his knights approaching the gate. He bowed and made to leave. “Excuse me, but I must greet – “  
  
Aglain glanced over his shoulder and interrupted: “Allow your father to greet the king to the east; for if you look now my lord – “ and here Aglain looped his arm through Arthur’s as if he and Arthur were old friends, turning him around in the process “ – the priestesses of the Isle of the Blessed have just arrived through the west gate.”  
  
Before Arthur had even made the decision, he was walking arm-in-arm with High Chieftain Aglain towards the priestesses. Aglain gave his warriors a quick nod over his shoulder. Distracted, Arthur failed to notice the small boy walking with him on his other side. It was only when he felt a small hand slip into his that he was jolted into awareness of the fact. He looked down and the boy looked up. He was a small, pale child with large blue eyes. Arthur gave him a tentative smile and the boy smiled back.  
  
The priestesses of the Isle appeared to have arrived on foot. They were beautiful women with long, flowing hair and dresses of fine cotton and silk. They were led by three priestesses with one dark haired woman in the lead, like the point of an arrow. As Arthur got closer, he noticed that the woman in the lead was beautiful but very old, with thick, black kohl drawn around her eyes.  
  
The two groups bowed to each other. Then Aglain frowned. “Queen Mab,” he greeted the leader, “did you arrive on foot?”  
  
She smirked, and then answered, her voice as gravely as two stones rubbing together, “No, High Chieftain, we arrived by boat.”  
  
He raised his eyebrows. “And from the shore, how did you travel?”  
  
Her smirk grew wider. “By boat.” She made a slight gesture with her head over her shoulder, and sure enough, there was a small commotion at the gate as the palace guards argued what to do about the three large ships parked outside the gate. Three large ships, with wheels. Arthur made a small noise at the back of his throat – first unicorns, now ships that sailed on land? What would the dragonlords bring?  
  
Tearing his eyes away, Arthur found himself being stared at, as three priestesses scrutinised him, while behind them the hustle-and-bustle of theirs and Camelot’s servants carried luggage to the castle doors. “Welcome to Camelot,” he said, knowing and embarrassed that the formal greeting was belated. “I am Prince Arthur. If you have need of anything please don’t hesitate to ask it of me or my staff.”  
  
Queen Mab’s smile was wide and genuine as she held out her hand to be kissed. “A pleasure to be here.” He brushed his mouth across her knuckles awkwardly and dropped her hand. She gestured to each side of her in turn as she introduced the other two priestesses. “This is High Priestess Morgause,” she said, still in that strange, gravelly voice, “and High Priestess Isolde.”  
  
“And who might you be?” Isolde suddenly cooed as she bent down a little lower, to better speak to the boy who was still clutching Arthur’s hand. The boy shied away from her, hiding behind Arthur’s legs.  
  
“That is Mordred,” Aglain answered, “our saviour.”  
  
Mab looked at him sharply. “ _Saviour_ Aglain?”  
  
He nodded, unmoved by her sudden, unfriendly mood. “The Prophesy of Emrys places Mordred as the saviour of our people, when the Darkness comes.”  
  
She made a short, angry hissing noise, while just behind her Morgause watched Arthur under lowered lashes and Isolde looked upset and trying to hide it. “ _Prophesies_ ,” Mab hissed, “they are the bedtime stories of men and cowards.” She looked at Arthur and stepped forward gracefully into his space. She lifted her hand and grazed his knuckles against his jaw. He swallowed and tried not to flinch away. She tilted her head to the side and studied his face closely. From so near he could see the lines around her mouth and the paper quality of her skin. “I need no boy saviour,” she whispered, and suddenly it was dark around them, as if she had shut out everyone. There was no sound, no light, and Arthur knew, standing there fixated, that no one but he heard her when she said, “Because _you_ are, aren’t you, my king?”  
  
“Oh!” Isolde gasped loudly, though it seemed from far away, and the spell was broken. Mab stepped away. “Do you feel that? That wind?” Isolde asked.  
  
Morgause looked up into the sky. “Prince Arthur, you may want to direct people into the castle. Now.”  
  
Arthur too felt the aggressive stirring of the wind, followed by the loud _thum_ of wingbeats.  
  
“The dragonlords approach,” said Aglain hastily.  
  
Arthur strode away from the group and to the people in the courtyard. Cenred and Alined’s people were already in the castle but Olaf and Uther were still engaged in conversation, with their servants and knights bustling and lingering. King Odin had yet to arrive. Arthur threw out his arms. “Would everyone _please move to the edge of the courtyard!_ ” he bellowed, trying to keep his voice void of panic. Camelot’s people did as they were told immediately, shuffling to the edge with confused mumbles and a little fear. Olaf’s men were far more reluctant but complied, slowly.  
  
It was when Arthur was close to his father and his father was giving him an enquiring look, as if to say, ‘Arthur, what are you doing?’ when the first dragon landed in the courtyard. First it was the forceful movement of wind and the deafening _crunch_ of its landing that Arthur felt and heard. Then the dragon, behind Arthur, landed so hard the stones vibrated and shook beneath his feet, and he tensed where he stood. Everyone gasped and a few women screamed, but then for a moment there was silence as everyone stared up at the monster before them.  
  
Arthur cautiously looked over his shoulder to see a dark brown and gold dragon staring down at him, nostrils flared and puffing out hot air. It had broken the stones where it had landed.  
  
Then another dragon landed, almost as hard. This one was slightly smaller than the other, and it was silver and beautiful; long feminine neck curved downwards. Then another landed with a mighty crunch and then a crash, as its tail accidently smacked into a wall of a watch tower, causing the stones to crumble away and for the tower to teeter for a second, before crashing onto the battlements with the loud and almighty sound only falling rocks could make: deep and rumbling. Arthur winced inwardly.  
  
The silver dragon curved its neck to look behind itself. “Archimedes!” it growled in a booming, yet female, voice. “Be careful!”  
  
“It was my fault, sorry!” called its rider on top of the dragon. It was only then that Arthur realised that each of the dragons had riders. Two more dragons landed, and there was suddenly no more room in the large space. People were yelling and others were trying to get out, and the complaining and screaming only got louder. Arthur saw out of the corner of his eye that the priestesses had their backs pressed to the wall.  
  
Two more dragons circled overhead, no doubt trying to find a place to land.  
  
The commotion in the square was only getting louder.  
  
A moment, then:  
  
“ENOUGH!” Uther shouted, putting up a hand. Everyone fell silent.  
  
Uther squared his shoulders and stepped forward, then sneered up at the largest dragon.  
  
“Magic is banned in this kingdom,” he told the dragons, and the dragonlords, by extension, “including creatures of magic.” He stepped to the side a little, and Arthur followed. Uther caught the eye of the rider sitting on a saddle high atop the dragon. From the distance Arthur could see that he was a hard-faced man with long, dark hair. He wore black leather and scales, and a crown of gold with black feathers wreathed through. Uther said, with finality, “The dragons are to go beyond the border and not return.”  
  
In one graceful, synchronised movement, the five riders slid off the backs of their dragons and walked towards them. Their leather attire was decorated on the shoulders with large feathers dyed black. With a great heave, the largest dragon sprang up and flapped his wings, stirring up dust and ruffling Arthur’s hair. The other dragons followed – lifting off into the sky and flying away.  
  
The two other dragons landed, deposited their riders – servants, Arthur guessed - then too left.  
  
The king, queen and prince of dragonlords approached Arthur and his father.  
  
The prince – a tall, dark-haired man about Arthur’s age – half tripped over the flagstones, then righted himself with a small blush.  
  
They came and bowed. “Greetings,” said the queen. “I am Queen Hunith, and this my husband, King Balinor – “  
  
King Balinor and Uther grunted at each other, and did not move to shake hands.  
  
“- And my son, Merlin.”  
  
Prince Merlin was watching Uther warily. He looked over his mother’s shoulder, shy, like a toddler clinging to his mother’s skirts, and gave Arthur a small smile. Arthur tried to smile back, and possibly succeeded. But they were interrupted by the arrival of King Odin and his party.  
  
“Merlin!” someone exclaimed. It was another prince about their age, whom Arthur recognised as King Odin’s son, Vidar. Prince Vidar dismounted from his horse and ran over. “How are you?” the prince asked breathlessly. Arthur watched on with a small pang of jealousy as the prince and Merlin gripped each other’s arms and spoke to each other – catching up on events during time apart - voices fast and breathless in their excitement. Sometimes Arthur wished, in the deepest parts of his soul, that he would have a friend – a close one, someone he could talk to about anything, who could connect to him on the same level.  
  


*

  
  
Arthur knocked on the first door and it flew open almost immediately. He was face to face to the man who was currently his enemy, and who would soon not be, if the treaty went ahead. Prince Vidar glared.  
  
“Yes?” he barked.  
  
Arthur gestured to the servant boy to his right. “Seth here is my manservant. If it is your wish, he will be serving you during your stay here.”  
  
Vidar’s glare transferred from Arthur to Seth, then back again. “Why?” he demanded. “So he can poison my wine while I’m not looking?”  
  
Arthur paused in surprise. “No, of course not,” he said.  
  
Vidar narrowed his eyes. “You may have murdered my brother, but you will not have me.” Then he slammed the door in Arthur’s face.  
  
Arthur grunted out an order for Seth to polish his armour. Seth did as he was told, scurrying away down the corridor. Arthur looked to his other side to the serving girl, Lydia. She kept her eyes downcast and gave no comment.  
  
Next he knocked on the door of Lady Morgause and Lady Isolde, who had chosen voluntarily to share a room. The door was swung open by one of their personal maids and Arthur got a peek into the room: Morgause and Isolde were on the bed with half a dozen other priestesses, who were all giggling and talking, one was even singing, brushing each other’s hair and giving each other back massages. Arthur stared. The maid stared up at him.  
  
Morgause looked over from her spot of the middle of the bed. She coolly cleared her throat. “Yes, Prince Arthur? Were you after something?”  
  
Arthur shook himself. “I hope everything is to your...” and here he blushed. “Your satisfaction.”  
  
Morgause’s eyebrow twitched.  
  
“I present to you – “ He gestured to Lydia behind him – “Lydia, one of our best serving girls.”  
  
Morgause gave her maid at the door a small downward gesture with the tilt of her chin. Then the maid grabbed Lydia’s arm and pulled her into the room. She slammed the door in Arthur’s face.  
  
Arthur was getting a bit sick of that.  
  
Next was Lady Vivian.  
  
“She is truly one of Camelot’s finest,” Arthur told her, after Guinevere had arrived.  
  
Vivian let out a small, condescending laugh. “Then I fear for Camelot,” she quipped.  
  
Last but, in no way least in the list of appalling guests, was Prince Merlin. Arthur heard a small commotion from the other side of the suite before Arthur had even opened the door. Three knocks later and still no one had answered. He shared a look with Guinevere, then pushed the door open. The sight he saw was not what he had been expecting at all.  
  
The first thing Arthur saw was a stocky servant in one corner using magic to float books around and put them on shelves, hands outstretched with a look of concentration on his face.  
  
The next thing was Prince Merlin and a knight at the window, their arms out of it as they tried to pull a _dragon_ into the room. Except the dragon was about the size of two horses put together, and it couldn’t even fit its fat head in. Arthur and Guinevere entered the room slowly in disbelief, gaping at the scene.  
  
“Baruch,” Merlin called to his servant. “I need you to cast a spell – any spell!”  
  
“Right okay,” said the servant in the corner nervously, plucking a book out of the air. His eyes flashed gold as the pages turned themselves.  
  
The dragon’s head nudged forward and the knight grunted.  
  
“Archimedes,” Merlin said, “why are you even here? If the king catches you he’ll shoot you with flaming arrows or something just as bad.”  
  
The dragon let out a snort and pushed his muzzle further into the room. Scraping sounds could be heard from the outside, where the dragon was trying to find leverage up the wall with his clawed hind legs. Baruch walked over, held out his hand, read quickly from the book and said some magic words.  
  
Merlin finally looked over, saw Arthur, and looked panicked. Then with a flurry of small spots of magic light, the dragon turned into a man.  
  
The knight pulled him into the room then the man-dragon fell on his bum, grabbed a pillow from the bed beside them and covered his nakedness. Guinevere made a small, startled noise.  
  
Arthur slammed the door shut, and finally everyone in the room noticed he was there.  
  
Silence dragged.  
  
The man-who-was-a-dragon gave Arthur a long look, then announced to the room at large, “I feel disgusting.” He shivered. “I’m wearing skin – “ He chin wobbled a little. “I feel – I feel naked. Change me back. Or at least to something else that isn’t human.” A pained look stole over his ugly face. “Anything but this.”  
  
Merlin was still staring at Arthur and didn’t answer. Baruch flipped to another page, held out his hand and pronounced, “ _Lede freme cattus!_ ”  
  
With a flurry of magic much like the floating embers of a fire there was suddenly a cat sitting where the man had been.  
  
The cat gave the servant a glare then said (and the fact that it could talk threw Arthur), “I need some wings.” Then he was turned into a cat, with wings. He glared up at his prince, instead.  
  
Merlin blinked a little, coming away from his wide-eyed staring of Arthur. He looked down at the animal by his feet, then crouched down and scratched him behind the ears. The cat gave him a disgruntled look.  
  
“I can’t change you back into a dragon, Archimedes,” said Merlin softly. “You’ll be far too big for the room.”  
  
The cat’s ears seemed to droop a little. Then he looked back up at his master. “Anything with wings will do. Anything but this, sire.”  
  
Merlin kept his hand on the animal’s head. Then his eyes glowed, and with a flash like light striking a sword, in the cat’s place was an owl. Merlin gave him a small smile. “Will that do?”  
  
The owl spread his wings then sighed long-sufferingly. “I suppose.”  
  
Arthur cleared his throat. “Prince Merlin,” he said, and Merlin looked up. “Are you aware that magic is banned in this land?”  
  
Merlin dropped his chin. His servant Baruch glared at Arthur. Archimedes flew to the wardrobe. There was no real expression from the knight, who stood to the side.  
  
“Consider this your first warning,” Arthur told him. Then he cleared his throat and the other prince waited patiently; blue eyes wide and guilty. Arthur gestured to his side. “This is Guinevere. If you should need anything just ask her or anyone of the castle’s staff.”  
  
Merlin nodded again. He turned and spoke to his manservant. “Baruch, why don’t you go with Guinevere and learn from her where the kitchens and laundry and things are?” The prince gave Guinevere a small smile that she returned. Arthur frowned.  
  
Baruch, too, was frowning. “And what about your books, sire?”  
  
“You’ll have to sort them later,” answered Merlin. “Um. Without magic.”  
  
Baruch gaped at him. “But that will take ages!”  
  
Merlin straightened his shoulders. “Magic is banned in this kingdom,” he said with a small smile at Arthur, which Arthur did not return. Baruch stomped off out the door, Guinevere following. All the floating books dropped to the floor.  
  
Merlin gestured to the knight standing to the side. “Prince Arthur, may I introduce to you: Knight Lancelot.”  
  
Lancelot bowed low. “A pleasure to meet you, sire.”  
  
Arthur hummed noncommittally. There was something odd about Prince Merlin that put him on edge, something he could not quite put his finger on, though he knew it was there. Of course, Arthur was not afraid of this prince despite the fact that he rode dragons and could do powerful magic. Before Arthur now was a man younger than himself, with long limbs and a kind face, his circlet a weave of gold and black feathers around his head. There were dark curls caught amongst the feathers and curling softly against his cheekbones and neck to compliment his pretty face.  
  


*

  
  
“Announcing: King Balinor, Queen Hunith, Prince Merlin and Knight Lancelot.”  
  
At the high table, King Uther stood and bowed stiffly. Merlin and his family too bowed.  
  
Servants of Camelot came over to direct them to their seats. One was gesturing to Merlin and Lancelot to go to the right, while another two were gesturing for his parents to go the left. Merlin gave his mother a panicked look. She gave him a kind look in return.  
  
“The kings are to sit at the high table, love,” she told him. “And the women are to sit together.” She glanced to the table and back again, then smiled. “You should sit with Prince Arthur.”  
  
“I don’t want – “ Merlin began stubbornly.  
  
Balinor gave his son a hard stare and Merlin went with the servant in red, reluctantly. Camelot was a scary place – nothing at all like home, where the wind was fresh and everyone praised magic. At least I have Lancelot, he thought. Although Lancelot was a good friend, he had been hired by Merlin’s parents to guard him at all times, and so their friendship was new and affected by the knowledge that Lancelot was only by Merlin’s side because he was being paid to be.  
  
Merlin did as he was told; he went to the empty seat next to Prince Arthur, who was talking to one of his knights sitting to his left. Arthur glanced up as the servant pulled Merlin’s seat for him, then pushed it forward as Merlin sat down with as much grace as he could. Arthur looked away, said something to his companion that Merlin did not hear, then laughed loudly.  
  
Merlin suppressed a groan.  
  
Lancelot sat to his right. The doorman announced: “King Cenred and Queen Elinor.”  
  
Merlin looked to his father at the head table. His face was pained as King Alined was trying for conversation. Merlin looked to his mother instead. Queen Elinor sat next to her, and they smiled kindly at each other and started up what appeared to be an easy conversation. How is it that women find it so easy to speak to one another? Merlin thought. Hunith looked up then and smiled then looked at Arthur meaningfully, as if to say, ‘Merlin, make nice with the Camelot prince.’  
  
Merlin pressed his lips together and shook his head.  
  
Hunith raised her eyebrows significantly.  
  
Merlin sighed quietly to himself, straightened his back and cleared his throat a little. “So, Prince Arthur.”  
  
Arthur ceased his conversation with the knight abruptly, and turned towards Merlin, one polite eyebrow raised.  
  
“Um,” said Merlin, and he fidgeted. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Oh the Fates preserve me, Merlin thought, I must look like the biggest idiot. He exhaled nervously.  
  
Arthur gave him an incredulous look.  
  
“I mean, you know,” Merlin dithered, “are you enjoying having visitors to your great castle?”  
  
Merlin saw Arthur’s jaw clench. But he said, eventually, “Very. And your knight? I admit, I have never heard of Asgard ever having any knights.”  
  
“We don’t,” Merlin confessed, glad to have a subject to talk about. Lancelot nodded silently at Arthur in acquiescence. “Sir Lancelot is a knight of the black. He swears no fealty to Asgard.”  
  
Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, because Arthur only became more condescending. “A knight of the black,” he drawled, “is no real knight. It means he has no master.”  
  
This was true and Merlin knew this, that they were ‘rogue’ knights who had no masters, and so they were considered dishonourable. The only thing that tied Lancelot to Merlin was the gold he was paid.  
  
“If I may cut in, sire,” said Lancelot. Merlin gestured for him to do so. “Prince Arthur, I told Merlin I would swear allegiance to him, but he would have none of it. For Prince Merlin is a good prince, and I hope to see him a great king. You see, when we met – “  
  
“He saved my life,” Merlin added enthusiastically, “from a griffin.”  
  
“Ah,” said Lancelot, “I’m not so sure – “  
  
“Go on with your story,” Prince Arthur interrupted, gesturing.  
  
“You see, sire,” Lancelot continued, a little nervously, “this is not the first time I have been to Camelot. I came here, hoping to be one of your knights. Because you see...” He trailed off. “You see – “  
  
“It is his dream,” Merlin finished for him.  
  
Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise. He looked at Lancelot, assessing, then at Merlin. He opened his mouth the speak –  
  
“Announcing King Odin and Prince Vidar,” said the doorman.  
  
\- Arthur closed his mouth as a dark look passed his features. Merlin looked at him in curiosity, then turned his head to see Prince Vidar approaching. Vidar sat next to Lancelot, then leaned over the black knight to speak directly to Merlin. “Greetings, Merlin,” he said, grinning. “I hear Camelot truly knows how to roast a wild boar. I hope so, I’m starving.” He glanced around. “This hall is not nearly as opulent as the one back in my own kingdom, of course. You simply must visit again someday, Merlin. When will you?”  
  
“Oh well, I’m not sure,” Merlin replied with a small smile. He glanced at Arthur, who was now leaning his head on one hand, jaw clenched.  
  
A goblet full of wine was suddenly slammed on the table between them. Merlin jumped then looked up to see Baruch glowering down at him. “I hate this place, my lord. I never had to do such duties back home.”  
  
Arthur was sneering. Merlin gave Baruch a disappointed look. “Yes, you do, Baruch.”  
  
Baruch pursed his lips. “Alright, I concede. But the people in this place smell really bad.” He screwed up his face. “It’s as if they don’t even bathe once a day!”  
  
“Well,” said Merlin, “they don’t have hot springs here, like we do. And you should be more considerate of others.”  
  
Baruch screwed his face up further at this, but then moved on away from the table. Arthur asked, voice steady and polite, “You have hot springs in Asgard?”  
  
Merlin nodded. He thought about Vidar’s open invitation to Midgard, and said, tentatively, “You could come visit, if you like.” Arthur watched him with his deep, blue eyes and Merlin moved his eyes away, blushing. “After the treaty is signed...”  
  
Merlin peered from under his lashes as the other prince looked away, eyes moving under lowered lids. His soft blonde hair hid some of his profile, though Merlin caught the small blush on Arthur’s cheek.  
  
Two large roasted boars were carried into the room by several servants and placed on the ends of the tables, close to the high table. Servants started serving everyone. “My father would never let me go,” was Arthur’s reply, low and soft, so only Merlin could hear.  
  
Merlin looked at his father again, and saw that his stiff countenance from Uther’s proximity had not waned one bit. “No, nor mine,” he agreed. “And – “ he paused. “It has just come to my attention, that it is very possible this treaty will never happen.”  
  
Arthur grunted and took a sip from his own goblet. “You only just figured that out?”  
  
“Are we the only ones who have?” Merlin asked rhetorically. “No one would be here if they didn’t believe.”  
  
“Perhaps there are other motives involved, not just the peace treaty.” Arthur glanced at Merlin again, and then away.  
  
“Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” Merlin asked, genuinely wanting to know. He never got his answer, however, as Vidar once again leaned over a quiet Lancelot.  
  
“I propose you swap seats with Sir Lancelot, Merlin,” he said jovially, “so we can converse unhindered.”  
  
“Alright,” said Merlin, suddenly reluctant. He looked at Arthur and caught him looking rapidly away. “Lancelot,” he addressed his knight, “would you please...”  
  
He trailed off as he noticed that Lancelot was paying no attention. A serving girl was placing sliced meat onto his plate and her bodice complimented the curves of her breasts. “Lancelot,” Merlin whispered loudly, trying to get his attention, “Lancelot.”  
  
Then Merlin looked up at the serving girl’s face and blinked a little in surprise. “Oh, Guinevere!”  
  
She finished piling Lancelot’s plate and smiled over at Merlin, a little flushed at being spoken to by a prince. She curtsied. “Prince Merlin.”  
  
Lancelot abruptly stood up, his chair scraping back. He bowed. “My lady.”  
  
Guinevere looked bemused. “I’m not a lady,” she told him with a little incredulous laugh. She wisely stepped away and moved on. Lancelot watched her go, then sat down slowly as if in a daze.  
  
There was a long moment, then finally Lancelot gathered his wits, turned his head and noticed Merlin and Arthur staring at him. He blushed bright red.  
  
Merlin didn’t change seats after all and he spent the rest of the evening eating, then enjoying some of the entertainment. Alined’s servant Trickler did a few magic tricks that the girls loved, even pulling a butterfly from behind Lady Vivian’s ear.  
  


*

  
  
The next morning Arthur awoke, had breakfast and was dressed by his servant in preparation for his morning patrol. He opened his door –  
  
\- and was met with the fierce face of Lady Morgause.  
  
She appeared to be standing guard at his door: full armour, except for the helmet, with a large sword in hand. She watched him carefully.  
  
“Good morning,” greeted Arthur, slow and disbelieving.  
  
She nodded slightly, very serious. “Indeed it is, Prince Arthur Pendragon,” she said, voice flat. “The sun is shining.”  
  
Arthur pressed his lips together, widened his eyes and shuffled his feet. “Well -” he began, after this momentary pause.  
  
“My ladies and I have been taking shifts to guard your door this night past,” Morgause informed him. “It was my idea to have your door guarded as one of my ladies saw Trickler – King Alined’s servant – try and get into your room.”  
  
Arthur stared at her in surprise. “Oh,” he said, “thank you, then. But Camelot has its own guards.”  
  
She gave him a patronising look. Then her nostrils flared and she gracefully turned on one heel and strode down the hall.  
  
Arthur watched her go in bewilderment.  
  
After patrol Arthur had the boring task of attending the negotiations with the other kings, queens and princes. Across the table, Prince Merlin looked as bored as he did.  
  


*

  
  
Late afternoon came and Merlin and Vidar were allowed to leave the negotiations. Hunith had long left, as had Arthur, to train his knights. “A walk through the flower garden, Merlin,” Vidar had suggested. “An unguided tour of the grounds, what say you?”  
  
“Sounds nice,” Merlin replied, and the two princes took to the gardens. They were full of rose bushes, hyacinth and potted flowers of many colours. “Lovely.” He looked up and saw Archimedes circling above.  
  
“Indeed,” agreed Lancelot, leaning over to smell a red rose.  
  
“Oh don’t look now,” Vidar whispered in Merlin’s ear, “but the women are walking this way.”  
  
As Merlin, Vidar and Lancelot were coming out of the gardens, Morgana, Morgause, Vivian and Mordred were crossing the grass field to their left. Morgana was holding onto Mordred’s hand, and trailing behind the group was Guinevere, hands clasped and head bowed. A breeze blew and Morgause’s and Morgana’s long hair mingled in the air: black and blonde, together. Their dresses of many bright colours trailed behind them.  
  
“Beautiful,” Vidar said lowly, so that only Merlin and Lancelot could hear. “If I were to choose my own bride I would choose Morgana in a second. Not of royal blood but noble nonetheless.”  
  
“Yes,” Lancelot breathed from Merlin’s other side, “very beautiful.”  
  
Merlin followed Lancelot’s line of sight; he was not looking at the main group but at Guinevere walking a few steps behind them. Merlin cocked an eyebrow at Lancelot and gave him a meaningful look. Lancelot blinked, looking shiftily away from Merlin’s enquiring gaze.  
  
When the women came nearer, Vidar placed a forearm lazily on Merlin’s shoulder and waved. “Good afternoon, ladies! Hope the afternoon sun is giving you great joy this summer’s day.”  
  
“It _was_ giving me great joy,” Lady Vivian retorted, “then you showed up.”  
  
Merlin sniggered behind his hand. Vidar was not deterred however; he said, “I will one day win your heart.”  
  
Morgause grabbed Vivian’s hand and laced their fingers. “Her heart will never belong to you,” she crooned. “She will belong to no man.”  
  
Vivian turned her face upwards and smiled at Morgause. A sweet look was shared between them.  
  
To the right of the field Arthur and his knights were approaching. They paused and seemed to be assessing the area. A servant was carrying a large wooden target; it looked so heavy the slight servant was bending under its weight.  
  
“Oh!” Vidar suddenly exclaimed in delight. “Moving target practice. I do so love moving target practice.”  
  
Merlin repeated the words to himself sceptically. He’d never heard of this game before. He threw Lancelot a questioning look but Lancelot only shrugged in return. Vidar was not paying attention to Merlin, as he was looking longingly, as if wishing he could join in but not wanting to ask.  
  
Then Merlin found out what moving target practice was.  
  
“What – “ he exclaimed. He looked to Lancelot again, who shrugged once more, then he threw his look to Morgana, who had come over to stand beside him. She shook her head, lips tight with anger.  
  
“This is typically what Arthur does for fun,” she said.  
  
Vidar went over to Morgana’s side and bowed, taking her hand in his and kissing it. “My lady,” he greeted.  
  
She pulled her hand out of his and hummed.  
  
“Merlin!” Arthur yelled from across the field, waving him over. Merlin needed no further prompting; he ignored Vidar’s jealous splutters as he marched over, getting angrier and angrier with every step he took. Another knight was throwing knives at the servant now, and the servant was running back and forth across the field.  
  
Merlin arrived and squinted a little, the sun shining behind Arthur’s golden head. Arthur flipped his dagger in the air and caught it by the handle, lazy and confident. “Right, that’s enough,” Merlin commanded. “You’ve had your fun, my friend.”  
  
Arthur let out a small puff of laughter, disbelieving, his smile falling a little. “What?”  
  
Merlin glanced over his shoulder at Vidar and the others, then back again. “The Lady Morgana things you’re an idiot,” he told him.  
  
“Her opinion matters, little, _Merlin._ ” He threw the knife. It whooshed through the air and with a glint of sunlight on metal, it embedded itself in the target. A pinch of anger pulled at Merlin’s chest.  
  
“Leave him alone,” he growled, and Arthur looked at him sidelong, then snorted, moving away and sharing a laugh with his knights.  
  
Merlin felt hate then, like heavy fire, and there was a voice creeping into the back of his mind that Merlin’s father was right, that King Uther and his son had no goodness in them. It was a contradiction to his mother’s beliefs, which told of the kindness in all people.  
  
He stared after the prince, who threw another dagger at his target. Merlin looked over his shoulder and saw the women on the hillside, and Prince Vidar halfway between them, a white-and-brown figure standing in the lush grass.  
  
Feeling bravery well up, Merlin stepped forward and shouted, “Why does Prince Vidar hate you?”  
  
He saw Arthur hesitate, dagger spinning in one hand and his shoulder slightly slumped. He turned his head to the side and scrutinised Merlin. “I killed his brother!” he shouted back, and the laughter from the knights petered out, and there was silence from both parties.  
  
Merlin looked over his shoulder, sharply, searching for the exact expression on Vidar’s face – but the other prince was too far away, and Merlin could only see that he was frowning.  
  
He looked back, eyes burning, and glared at Arthur. He marched closer. “Why would you do something like that?” he demanded.  
  
Arthur returned his glare, though there was an ounce of resignation there, hiding behind forced defiance. “He challenged me to a duel to the death.”  
  
Merlin looked at this prince, and wondered, and could say nothing. Duels to the death were not unusual even in Asgard, and Merlin knew it was the unfortunate way of men.  
  
Arthur looked to the side, over Merlin’s shoulder. “Your mother’s coming over.”  
  
Merlin spun around and saw that Arthur was right; his mother was approaching with a Camelot guard. Arthur moved away.  
  
“Merlin,” she breathed, when she had arrived. “I’d like to take you to see my uncle, who resides in the castle. I don’t know when we’ll next get the time to visit him during our stay here.”  
  
He nodded. “Yes,” he said, and he let her loop her arm in his. He waved at Lancelot who was still some distance away, gesturing for him to follow.  
  
Hunith knocked on the door to the physician's quarters and, after bade enter, she and Merlin walked through. They were greeted by a dotty old man who seemed so senile he didn't recognise them at first. Then Hunith smiled widely at him and he exclaimed, "Hunith!" and came forward to give her a mighty hug.  
  
"Uncle Gaius," said Hunith, "how are you?"  
  
"As fit as a fiddle, my dear," he said.  
  
Merlin stood shyly to the side. Gaius pottered around Hunith and saw him, opened his arms in welcome. "And you must be Merlin..." said Gaius, quiet and tentative.  
  
"Merlin," Hunith addressed, "this is my uncle - your great uncle - Gaius."  
  
Merlin came forward and hugged the old man, awkward and shy. But when Gaius pulled back, he put two hands on either side of Merlin's face and smiled up at him. "You look just like your father," Gaius told him, quietly.  
  
"And the temperament of his mother," she said, standing a few feet away. "Or so they say."  
  
"Yes, I see it in his eyes," agreed Gaius, moving away. "Oh, royalty is visiting and where are my manners? Tea, Hunith? Merlin?"  
  
"Yes please," said Hunith before Merlin could politely decline, "for both of us."  
  
Merlin and Hunith sat down on wooden chairs in front of a table laden with herbs, instruments of science and loose parchment.  
  
"Gaius helped your father escape persecution, Merlin," Hunith told him, while Gaius set water to boil on the fire. "During the Purge twenty years ago."  
  
Merlin looked at Gaius at that, who gave him a kind smile in turn and sat down with them. "Unfortunately," Gaius said regrettably, "I could not save the others."  
  
"Save the others?" asked Merlin.  
  
"From the Purge, dear," said Hunith.  
  
Gaius explained further by adding, resting his clasped hands on the table, "King Uther treats dragonlords with deep suspicion. During that time many years ago, Uther had his knights throw the dragonlords, and other users of magic, on the pyres, where they burnt to death."  
  
Merlin made a small noise in the back of his throat. For some reason the image that came upon his mind was not that of people burning in fire, screaming, but was that of Arthur in the afternoon sun, laughing about throwing knives at a servant. Merlin must have looked very distressed because Hunith placed a hand on his and said, soft and bemused, "Merlin, you know this. Your father has told you many time before."  
  
"Yes," said Merlin, nodding, because Hunith would expect a response. "Father said that his six brothers and my grandparents died in the war."  
  
"Mmm," Hunith agreed, pulling away and exchanging a look with Gaius that Merlin could not completely decipher. "Gaius snuck your father out of Camelot. He headed for Cenred's kingdom and my hometown, Ealdor. It is how we met."  
  
"How is Balinor?" Gaius asked Hunith. "I have not seen him as yet."  
  
"He is fine, but busy with the other kings..." Hunith continued talking about Merlin's father and the treaty, but Merlin wasn't really listening.  
  
King Uther had burnt Merlin's relatives at the stake, and Balinor's hate for Uther was as deep as the deepest of seas and just as wild and unseeing. And what about Arthur? Were Merlin and Arthur like father and son, or different? Arthur's teasing was not like Uther's hate; Merlin and Arthur’s rivalry were like flat mirror reflections of their fathers’.  
  
"Is Uther going to kill us?" demanded Merlin, suddenly, and Gaius and Hunith stopped mid-conversation to stare at him.  
  
"King Uther, dear," said Hunith. "And he won't kill us as the treaty is due to be signed tomorrow."  
  
"They won't sign," said Merlin quietly, realisation dawning more forcefully than the night before. "This treaty is not going to happen."  
  
"Then there would surely be war," said Gaius, matter-of-factly, but not in such a way that was inevitable; more in a way that he believed the treaty would be signed, regardless of this fact.  
  
Merlin looked up at him slowly, eyes feeling hot. "We have to do something. We have to do something to make sure..." He stood up slowly from his chair. Gaius looked at Hunith with slight panic, but she would not return his glance. She was staring up at Merlin, her face full of glowing pride.  
  
Then she blinked it away and said, "Sit down, Merlin, and calm yourself."  
  
But Merlin only stood and stared out the window at the long shadows cast on the street outside. He thought a name: Arthur; and then he thought, What could I possibly do? Nothing, another treacherous but more realistic thought, said. There's nothing you can do.

*

  
  
Arthur was in one of his horrid moods and yet he still had to attend this dreaded feast. The second night into the peace talks and the kings, high priestesses and high chieftain still had yet to come to a complete agreement.  
  
Merlin sat to his right, being strangely miserable and silent. He didn't even seem to be conversing with his black knight and Prince Vidar. Though it was not as if Arthur cared.  
  
It was just that he was a bit bored. He lifted his goblet to be filled and a servant came, leaning a little against the back of his chair as he poured the wine. When the servant moved away, Arthur’s hair must have caught on the ties of his tunic, because he felt a very sharp tug.  
  
“Ow!” he exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head and turning to see that the servant was in fact Trickler.  
  
“So sorry, sire!” Trickler apologised, voice quavering. He moved away quickly.  
  
“Idiot!” Arthur shouted after to him.  
  
“You should be nicer to servants,” said Merlin, quietly.  
  
“You should mind your own business,” Arthur quipped, taking a large slurp of wine.  
  
Two women set up harps in two corners of the room. They started playing a slow melody. Three more priestesses of the isle stood from their seats and came to the centre of the tables. A brunette and a red head was lead by a young girl with long, blonde hair, that Arthur remembered being Lady Isolde. She started singing and dancing, the other two dancing in time with her. They were slow, simple moves, delicate hands moving in the air, and their hips moving to the music minutely.  
  
Arthur leaned over and murmured in Sir Tristan’s ear. “Finally, some entertainment.”  
  
“Yes sire,” said Tristan, breathless. Arthur stole a look at him and saw that the knight was staring, fixated, at Lady Isolde. Arthur supposed her beautiful in a mousey way.  
  
“Many dragonlords died during the Purge,” Merlin said, quietly, voice deep and emotional.  
  
Arthur was indecisive, mouth twisting. “Those who posses magic cannot be trusted.”  
  
Merlin made to stand up. From the other table, Queen Hunith gave him a quelling look and gestured with a flap of her hands for Merlin to sit. “Your mother seems disappointed in you,” Arthur drawled, his goblet clasped in lazy fingers. “A little pushy, isn’t she? I’m surprised your father lets her talk at all; if I were him I’d get a muzzle.”  
  
Merlin clenched his jaw and with sudden anger stood from his chair and growled, “Well, at least I have a mother!”  
  
Arthur stood so fast his chair screeched on the polished floor. In one angry motion he pulled off his left glove with his right hand and slapped Merlin in the face with it. The sound of leather on cheek was surprisingly loud, and Merlin’s head snapped to the side. His cheek was red but Arthur didn’t care; he was furious. He tried to slow his breaths.  
  
Lady Isolde and the other priestesses abruptly stopped dancing. Music too stopped and so did conversation. There was continued muttering for a moment, but even while Arthur stood there staring at Merlin, and Merlin slowly pressed fingers to his own sore cheek, even that muttering died down.  
  
Eventually, when the room was completely silent and everyone was still focused on Arthur and Merlin, King Uther stood from his seat at the head table. “Arthur,” he addressed his son, though he made an expansive gesture to the room with his goblet and an apologetic smile as if to say, _Oh that odd son of mine, he’s gone and done something silly again!_ “Take back what you said at once and apologise.”  
  
Arthur squared his shoulders and looked his father in the face. “I will not. He insulted my mother.”  
  
Uther’s face darkened. Merlin looked at him, finally, with wide eyes. “Are you _mad?_ ” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Take it back!”  
  
Arthur thought the desperation behind Merlin’s voice was oddly vehement, but he stayed resolute. “I will not.”  
  
Queen Hunith stood with some haste and asked, “So you admit it, you will not take it back.”  
  
Arthur nodded to her as politely as he could even with the anger still simmering. “That is correct, Your Majesty. I do not take it back.”  
  
Queen Hunith suddenly smiled wide and clapped her hands together. “Excellent!” she exclaimed.  
  
There was a stuttering of Arthur’s heart - the kind of movement he got when on the verge of a ‘bad feeling’. He watched Queen Hunith as she picked up her skirts and rounded the two large tables to him, graceful even in her haste. Everyone watched her movements, following unblinking like the hungry or the keen. As she neared she gestured with one elegant hand and spoke to Arthur directly:  
  
“As due to the laws of the Great Council of Avalon, you have successfully proposed marriage to Prince Merlin of Asgard – “  
  
Next to Arthur, Merlin rubbed his eyes and groaned.  
  
“ – and as Queen of Asgard and mother to the Crown Prince I hereby except, wholeheartedly and with great delight, your proposal.” She sighed loudly and happily.  
  
“What?” said Arthur, in disbelief.  
  
Uther huffed in incredulity. King Balinor made a movement to mirror Merlin’s, one hand rubbing eye and forehead.  
  
Queen Hunith was close to Arthur now. She held out her arms. “Allow me to embrace my soon-to-be son-in-law.”  
  
Arthur did allow her, himself moving to reciprocate in small, jerky movements, unwillingly but dutiful. “This is absurd – “ his father suddenly boomed, his deep voice thrown across the hall.  
  
He was interrupted by Queen Mab, who pushed back her chair and stood herself, applauding with her sharp, thin hands. Lady Morgause joined half a second later, then the rest of the priestesses and druids were clapping their hands, nodded, smiling politely and murmuring their congratulations.  
  
“ENOUGH!” shouted Uther, and the noise ceased. Merlin whispered something panicky to himself. Arthur felt his chest tighten and wouldn’t look at him. Proposed – engaged – married – to a man – to _Merlin_ –  
  
“This is absurd,” Uther repeated, words clipped, speaking directly to Queen Hunith, who lifted her chin sharply and in readiness for Uther’s attack. “My son, will not – “ He spluttered, his words caught in his throat like a fish bone. “Marriage to you son is out of the question.”  
  
“King Uther – “  
  
“Out of the question!”  
  
She lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not asking.” Uther opened his mouth again to speak and she lifted a hand to stall him. “You know,” she said silkily, coming around Arthur and Merlin to better face Uther, “when a man takes off his _left_ glove or gauntlet and _strikes_ his intended upon their right cheek...”  
  
Uther’s lips tightened and his eyes flickered - Oh no, thought Arthur. It was hesitation and Arthur knew, just as he knew a knight’s code was his honour, that hesitation could cost lives, whether lost or affected. Arthur’s life hung as a counter-balance to this moment and that hesitation. “It’s an old rite, one that is no longer practiced in this kingdom,” Uther argued.  
  
“Perhaps it is out of fashion,” she said with a small lift of one shoulder, “but I’m sure if you check the official records you keep, you will find that the law still stands.”  
  
“It is a pagan law; the royal family of Camelot and its people are Christians.”  
  
“The law still stands,” she repeated, her tone deepened and Arthur could see by her profile, that her patience was thinning. “The Christians absorbed the laws of these lands when they had no counter-law themselves.”  
  
Uther bared his teeth. “You are bordering very close to treason.” He turned to King Balinor down the table from him. “I suggest you rein in your woman.”  
  
Balinor stood, anger etched in the lines of his face like curses written on parchment. “And I suggest,” said King Balinor, voice deep and low, “you check your laws.”  
  
Uther exhaled through his nose and Arthur pressed his thumbnail into his fingers, one at a time. Beside him, Merlin was standing ridged, as if he dare not move. Uther gestured to the nearest Camelot servant, murmured lowly for him to find Sir Geoffrey and tell him to expect the king’s impromptu visit. He looked Queen Hunith hard in the eyes, while behind her the servant scurried past, to the door and out.  
  
“Don’t try to change your laws, either,” Queen Hunith said to Uther, quietly, “as I will know. The laws are to be taken as they were when your son proposed marriage to my son.”  
  
“And I assure you,” said Uther just as quietly, “that no such marriage will take place.”  
  
“Mother,” Prince Merlin uttered quietly, head bent, cowering a little under the weight of his own bewilderment, “I don’t want to marry him.” Then he lifted his head, looking at his parents each in turn. “I don’t have to marry him, if I don’t want to.”  
  
“Precisely!” Arthur affirmed, a little too loudly. He cleared his throat a little, shifting to the other foot as Merlin gazed at him, eyes blue and wide. He gestured to Merlin, palm upwards. “I take back my proposal to Prince Merlin of Asgard,” he announced.  
  
Queen Hunith tittered and behind her, Uther and King Balinor simultaneously rolled their eyes. “I’m afraid you cannot, Prince Arthur, for you were asked thrice in succession whether you would take it back, and you thrice asserted that you would not. Therefore, as due to the three-times law of the Council of Avalon, you are hereby bound by your word and cannot refute it.  
  
“Sweetheart,” she continued, turning to Merlin and touching his chin, “you know as well as any that marriage is often not decided by the betrothed, but by the betrothed’s parents – “  
  
“But Arthur – “  
  
“Is bound by the three-times rule,” she repeated patiently. “Your father and I agree that you will marry Prince Arthur.”  
  
“What?” Merlin demanded rudely. “When could you have possibly - ? Father - !”  
  
King Balinor looked pained; in fact, he appeared to Arthur to be the most miserable person in the whole room. “You must marry Prince Arthur,” he grunted at his son.  
  
“I’ve heard enough,” Uther announced. “Arthur, we shall go to the archives. Good night to all.” He bowed stiffly to the room at large. People stood and bowed, chairs making large scrapping noises in the echoic room. Some murmured good night, others saluted with their goblets. Arthur followed his father out with a lift of his chin and swirl of his red cloak. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ladies Morgause and Vivian smiling in triumph and amusement respectively. Gwen was kneeling down next to her seated mistress, Morgana, and they were both hiding their giggles behind their cupped hands. The last person he passed on the way to the door was Merlin’s personal servant, who stood holding a wine jug and glowering.  
  
The stride down the corridor was fast-paced yet long. Two sets of boots made heavy footfalls across the stone floor.  
  
They entered the library and with a gesture from Uther, Geoffrey began his explanation.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his old head and laying the large open tomb on the table. “I have searched the records as far as three hundred years; there is no law that takes precedence. Arthur’s proposal must be upheld.”  
  
Uther paced the room, restless and frustrated. “There must be something we can do. Surely Arthur is not bound to marry a man. What about the bible?”  
  
“I have no copy of one here,” said Geoffrey a little hesitantly, looking a little surprised Uther should ask, but not wanting to incur his wrath.  
  
Uther stopped his pacing and stared at the other man. “You have a library full of books and no bible?”  
  
The librarian nodded. “The sacred bible is only to be read by a priest in a house of God – “  
  
Uther turned away in disgust and continued pacing. “And what do you know of the laws held in our sacred book?”  
  
Geoffrey hesitated, head tilted slightly to the side and Arthur leaned on the table, palms flat, waiting for his answer.  
  
“That two men may not lie together.”  
  
Arthur felt his face heat, and tried not to look at his father.  
  
“What about two men marrying?” Uther asked.  
  
“I don’t recall any such passage, sire.”  
  
There was a knock on the door. Queen Mab and Lady Morgause burst into the room straight afterwards, unannounced.  
  
With all poise, Queen Mab turned to Uther, gave him a cursory bow and told him with what Arthur thought was deference feigned, “Congratulations on Prince Arthur’s royal betrothal.”  
  
Uther’s jaw clenched; Arthur saw the tick in his jaw that signalled dangerous anger. Uther pulled his shoulders back, facing them and intending to incite intimidation. “We were in a private meeting.”  
  
Queen Mab bowed once more, a small, patronising smile gracing her lips. She faced Arthur on the other side of the table. “And of course congratulations to you, Prince Arthur.”  
  
Arthur shifted his stance, relaxing slightly. He nodded in acquiesce. “Thank you,” he said, and added with some regret, “but I’m afraid, if my father has his way, that the marriage will not take place.”  
  
Queen Map turned her body to Uther again, eyebrow raised in almost bored enquiry. “But why ever not? What seems to be the problem, King Uther?” Behind her, Lady Morgause was still and silent. Geoffrey too seemed disinclined to move from his place at the head of the table.  
  
Uther narrowed his eyes. “My reasons are no concern of yours.” He threw Arthur an ungrateful look.  
  
“Only I find it curious,” Queen Mab continued, tone still light and fake, “as it benefits your kingdom greatly to have Emrys by your side.”  
  
Arthur and his father exchanged glances. “Emrys?” Arthur prompted eventually, because he knew Uther was too proud.  
  
Lady Morgause spoke up for the first time since entering the room. “No servant of the Old Religion will attack a territory where Emrys resides.”  
  
“And Emrys is...?” Arthur prompted, crossing his arms.  
  
Queen Mab answered with small triumph, “One of our deities, who sits on the Council of Avalon, and who was reborn into the mortal world through the vessel, Prince Merlin. He holds life in one hand, and time in the other.”  
  
“Any territory in worship of Avalon will not attack a territory where Emrys resides,” Lady Morgause repeated, staring at Arthur with imploring eyes, as if trying to convey a hidden message. Arthur didn’t understand.  
  
But Uther seemed to, for he said in dawning realisation, “No druids, dragonlords and priestesses will attack while Prince Merlin is in Camelot?”  
  
Queen Mab blinked at him as if she’d forgotten he was there, though Arthur knew she was still acting. Her intentions were unclear. She replied, “Why yes, of course.”  
  
Arthur could not let another element go, even though her words filled him with bewilderment. “This Emrys – “  
  
“Prince Arthur,” Lady Morgause interrupted, which was daring for her gender and status, “you are essentially betrothed to a god.”  
  
Uther’s nostrils flared at this and Arthur inhaled deeply. They exchanged glances again.  
  
Queen Mab inspected her nails as if bored, and then curtsied before turning to leave. She paused and looked over her shoulder and said, as if she had completely forgotten, “Oh, I meant to tell you, Prince Arthur, Prince Merlin and his entourage are leaving Camelot. If you hurry, you might catch him.”  
  
Arthur’s chest constricted. He bowed to his father, then the other occupants of the room. He strode quickly to the door, the women stepping aside easily. From there he ran.

 

 

_Part Two_

  
  
Merlin jumped on his horse and it cantered across the courtyard. The sounds of the horse shoes on the stones were sharp and clean. He slowed his horse and looked up into the sky for Archimedes. He spotted the owl in the air below a blue sky splattered with white clouds, like a child’s finger painting. Baruch cantered his horse across the courtyard ahead of Merlin, eager and energetic. As a servant he was not supposed to ride ahead of his prince, but Baruch was hardly an ordinary servant. Merlin knew the boy was eager to see Balthamos.  
  
Lancelot trotted up and stopped beside Merlin. “Are you ready?” Lancelot asked softly.  
  
Merlin tried to answer, but felt his throat constrict, as if his words were a giant ball stuck in his throat. He felt the tell-tale heat behind his eyes and told himself not to cry.  
  
Only a moment before, he and his parents had gone into a private room. “You’re making me marry him,” Merlin told them, tears welling in his eyes.  
  
Hunith looked at him kindly. “You place is here, in Camelot.”  
  
Merlin had choked a little, then, stepping across the room, restless, hands in his own hair in despair. “I can’t go back to Asgard?” He looked to his father. “I’m the crown prince – do you not want – don’t you want – “ Oh, Emrys in Avalon! If his parents didn’t want him in Asgard, in his own kingdom, he could not bear it.  
  
Emotion flickered in his father’s eyes but his expression stayed hard. He explained, voice low, “Kilgharrah told us something like this would happen. He gave us instructions, that when the opportunity presented itself, that we would not fight against it. That we must help you achieve your destiny.”  
  
“My destiny?” Merlin had prompted, looking from Balinor to Hunith, but neither answered. “How can it be my destiny to marry someone who hates me?”  
  
“Give him more credit than that,” said Hunith, and there was admonishment there, hidden behind the folds of her words. “He likes you.”  
  
Even Balinor raised his eyebrows at that. But he promised Merlin that he would live many more years as king, and that Merlin’s time would come one day. He also told Merlin to seek advice from Kilgharrah.  
  
Now Merlin sat on his horse and did not answer Lancelot’s enquiry. He bowed his head, hair tickling the sides of his face. Finally, he uttered quietly to his knight “Let’s go – “  
  
“Prince Merlin!” someone shouted from across the courtyard.  
  
Prince Arthur was jogging across the stones towards them. Lancelot looked to Merlin and Merlin nodded to him in response to his silent question. Lancelot trotted off towards where Baruch was, near the gate.  
  
Arthur arrived, only slightly out of breath, and rested his hand gently against the neck of Merlin’s horse. He looked up at Merlin with wide, sincere eyes and Merlin’s breath caught at the sight Arthur’s handsome face, turned up to Merlin’s like a sun flower to the sun, soft and golden and pleading.  
  
Arthur said, voice gruff, “It’s alright, Merlin. I don’t mind that we should marry.”  
  
Merlin exhaled.  
  
“You don’t have to leave,” said Arthur.  
  
Merlin bit his lip in indecision and looked away from the other prince, and over the courtyard where Baruch and Lancelot were waiting on their own horses. He looked back to Arthur and nodded, giving him a small, tentative smile. “Thank you,” said honestly, and still a little breathless.  
  
Arthur nodded and smiled a little in return.  
  
“I’m not leaving for good,” Merlin told him. Under him, his horse shifted, stamping one foot. “I’ll come back.”  
  
Arthur nodded at him again, slowly. He stepped away so Merlin could kick his horse into movement, and then he was cantering away, servant and knight following him through the gates.  
  
The dragons were grazing in a valley beyond the Northern Plains where the air was cool and dense. A fog rolled slowly through like the shy child weather forgot. With a whistling flap of wings, Archimedes flew down and landed on Merlin’s shoulder.  
  
“Change me back, please, sire.”  
  
“Of course,” said Merlin. He complied, touching his feathers softly. Archimedes landed on the ground in dragon form, large and magnificent, rocks scattering across the ground. He inclined his head towards Merlin before cantering ahead.  
  
Baruch cantered his horse towards the grassy slope where Balthamos stood, his great brown and cream coloured wings flexing in the air in anticipation. In his haste, Baruch jumped from his horse and ran the rest of the way, joyful cries echoing in the valley. The servant reached his dragon and threw his arms around his neck, as Balthamos bent his head low over Baruch’s shoulder and tried to embrace the boy back with one clawed foot.  
  
Merlin looked away, throat thick, and to Archimedes, who was in the mouth of the valley and bowing to Sleipnir, Hunith’s large, silver dragon. Dragonlords and their dragons could not become ‘brothers’ with their dragons until a dragonlord’s father died (or in the case of dragonladies, their mothers had to die.) But sometimes, very rarely, the bond between dragonlord and dragon could manifest itself early. Merlin did not know if Baruch and Balthamos souls had become brothers yet, but the two were very close, unable to keep away from each other’s sides for long.  
  
Romulus trotted towards them. He was Lancelot’s dragon: smaller than Archimedes and pitch black all over. He bowed his long neck. “My prince,” he greeted. His voice was like the deep, gravelly sound of rocks falling down a cliff. “Lancelot.”  
  
Lancelot jumped from his horse and went over to pat Romulus’s neck. Romulus kept his usual, unimpressed expression.  
  
Merlin too jumped from his horse and bowed to Romulus. Even though Merlin was prince and Romulus was a lower class dragon, dragonlords had to show dragons utmost respect. “I wish to see Kilgharrah,” Merlin told him. “Do you know where he is?”  
  
Romulus swung his head round and pointed to a tall hill with his snout. “In the forest,” he growled.  
  
“Thank you,” said Merlin and turned to Lancelot. “If it is alright, I would like to go on my own.”  
  
Lancelot hesitated. “We know not of these woods, sire.”  
  
“I’ll be alright,” said Merlin, already hoisting himself back onto his gelding. He walked it through the valley, then up a grassy slope. There he left it and ventured into the woods alone.  
  
The fog was thicker here, the earth damp and air quiet. Merlin found Kilgharrah sleeping in a clearing only just big enough, snout tucked under his curled tail and wings folded against his back. He was snoring.  
  
Merlin stared at the beast for a moment, then blurted out, “Prince Arthur and I are engaged to be married.”  
  
Immediately the snores turned into deep throated chuckles, and the Great Dragon lifted his head. “Indeed?” he boomed, the one word sounding much like an oncoming gust of wind. He laughed again. “Who proposed to whom?”  
  
“Arthur proposed to me,” muttered Merlin, embarrassed.  
  
Kilgharrah laughed loudly in response, teeth bared. “Was it a very public affair?”  
  
“Public enough.” He waited a little for Kilgharrah to finish laughing. “I need your advice.”  
  
At these words Kilgharrah looked at him sharply, arching his neck. Merlin refused to be intimidated – Kilgharrah and Merlin’s father were Brothers – Kilgharrah would not hurt his brother’s son. “I only give advice to the king,” Kilgharrah boomed. He moved his great head away in dismissal.  
  
“The king told me to come to you.”  
  
Kilgharrah looked at him again, gold eyes moving over Merlin before settling on his face. “It is Arthur’s destiny to unite all Albion.”  
  
Merlin was sceptical. “Right...”  
  
The dragon’s eyes narrowed. “That yours and Arthur’s paths lie together is fate written in the language of the Old Religion, as seen in images of the crystals born of the earth’s spirit.”  
  
Words caught in Merlin’s throat, indecisive and disbelieving. He shook his head slowly.  
  
Kilgharrah looked impatient. “None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin. And none of us can escape it.”  
  
“Alright,” Merlin replied, eventually. “So you’re saying it’s my destiny to marry Arthur?”  
  
Kilgharrah stretched out his neck, peering at Merlin closely. “I’m not saying that at all,” he told him. “Your place is in Camelot, and so the Fates have forced their right hand. Or rather,” he added with a deep, thundering chuckle, “your left hand.”  
  
Merlin rolled his eyes.  
  
“You’re the crown prince,” the dragon continued. “If you had been a nobleman, you would have been Arthur’s knight. Had you been a peasant, you would have been his servant.”  
  
Merlin hummed in discomfort.  
  
“As you are crown prince of your kingdom, there was no other way to keep you here, in another king’s lands.”  
  
Merlin finally understood. He crossed one leg over the other, and sat down on the soft ground. Leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, Merlin enquired, “So, explain to me, what is so special about this prince?”  
  


*

  
  
Unbeknownst to Arthur, Merlin would not return to Camelot until well after nightfall, due to being in conference with the Great Dragon. Merlin was not at dinner, and Arthur did wonder as to his whereabouts, but his pride prevented him from asking the king or queen. In the end he drank a little too much wine and went to bed, gracelessly crawling under his sheets and pressing his face to his pillow.  
  
He awoke the next morning with the knuckles of his hand pressed to something warm and solid. There was soft breathing beside him. He opened his eyes.  
  
Prince Merlin was in his bed. Body facing him. Eyes closed and lashes fanning over cheeks flushed with sleep, like the afterfeather of a raven’s wing. Arthur’s knuckles were pressed against Merlin’s ribs and as he held his breath and pulled his hand away, slowly, Merlin moaned softly and pressed his face further in the pillows.  
  
The warm feeling coalescing in his belly frightened him enough to force him out of bed. He jumped out, foot still caught in the sheets. His pulling and jumping was enough to wake Merlin up.  
  
Merlin made another small, sleepy noise and lifted his head, looking at Arthur with one bleary eye while he rubbed the other with his hand. Arthur managed to rescue his foot in the meantime. He smoothed his hand down his rumpled shift and Merlin closed his eyes again and pressed his face back down into the pillow with a mumbled, “Too early.”  
  
Arthur gripped the bed post. “You’re in my bed. I’m mean – you’re – “ He gesticulated, unable to find the words. Then he looked outside the window and at the position of the sun. His eyes widened. “It’s not early, it’s actually late.” He strode over to the window and pushed it open, movements stilted. He needed to do something with his hands. “Where’s my manservant?” he barked at Merlin.  
  
Merlin had burrowed his head under the covers so all Arthur could see was a tuft of black hair. He mumbled something.  
  
“What?”  
  
Merlin peeked out, fingers curled over the edge of the blanket. “Cold,” he mumbled. His eyes flashed gold and behind Arthur the window shut itself. Arthur turned and stared at it. He went back to staring at Merlin when he heard a rustling of blankets.  
  
Merlin was kicking them down the bed.  
  
Arthur demanded, again, “What are you doing in my bed?”  
  
Merlin finished gracelessly kicking the blankets away, and Arthur realised, mouth watering as if he was hungry, that the sleepy prince wasn’t wearing any leggings under his shift. Merlin spread his legs a little, shift riding up his thighs –  
  
Arthur tore his eyes away and Merlin said, “I had to lock the bedroom door last night,” which made no sense. Made worse by the gold flash of his eyes, followed by the door unlocking with a thudding, metallic sound.  
  
Arthur gripped the bed post again and stared at Merlin, who was sitting up in bed. “How did you do that?” he demanded, just as Merlin’s glaring servant shoved the door open and stomped inside, food tray in hand.  
  
The servant saw Arthur and stopped in the middle of the room, glaring even harder. “My master is a level one sorcerer!” the servant practically shouted out Arthur, the insolent whelp.  
  
“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin begged and Arthur turned his narrowed eyes to him. Merlin gave him a soft smile, eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep and Arthur swallowed. “Let’s eat breakfast in bed.”  
  
Merlin’s servant made a small, angry noise, and came over with the tray. Despite his anger, the servant was gentle as he placed the tray on Merlin’s lap.  
  
Seth slipped into the room, then, with a tray of sausages, bread and butter for Arthur. “Where have you been?” Arthur demanded, marching over to his cowering servant, glad to have someone to shout at. “I have to lead patrol this morning. Quick – dress me.”  
  
Seth did as he was told, hands shaking while he pulled the gambeson from where it hung near the wardrobe. “The door was locked from the inside, sire – “  
  
“Yeah, even I couldn’t get in!” said Merlin’s servant, straightening after pouring Merlin some water. He glared at his master. “You locked it with a level one spell!”  
  
Merlin’s mouth twisted guiltily. “I had this weird feeling someone was trying to get in last night.”  
  
“And why are you even sleeping here, anyway?” the servant demanded, slamming his water jug on the bedside table. Despite the obvious magic use and the fact that the boy was the clearly the worst servant ever, Arthur silently thanked him.  
  
“Because Arthur and I are engaged,” Merlin explained patiently, biting into a bit of bread.  
  
“Yes, engaged,” said the servant, “not married. It’s unbecoming for a prince to – to – “ he stuttered to a stop, going red.  
  
Merlin graced the servant with loving, kind eyes, and Arthur’s hatred for the servant returned, stronger than before. “Baruch,” Merlin explained, “it’s almost the sixth century. We’re far more modern, now; nobody cares about silly things like that.”  
  
The two dragonlords continued to argue as Seth finished dressing him and Arthur shoved food into his mouth. He gave his rumpled sheets and rumpled betrothed one last look, and then he marched out without saying goodbye.  
  


*

  
  
After singeing the hem of her dress on the fire, then having to eat hard oats because she hadn’t cooked them properly, Gwen knew that today was going to be terrible.  
  
Made worse when, as soon as she stepped outside her father’s cottage, she trod right in horse manure. A fast carriage passed her on the way to the castle, driving right into a puddle and splashing her dress with mud. She was also late to work and the cook gave her a cold look when she got to the kitchen.  
  
Pushing her curls out of her face with the back of one hand, she walked as far as she could to Lady Vivian’s chambers, silver platter with breakfast in her arms. Of course the final straw was pulled when, a second after rounding the corner, the rug slipped out from under her, as if pulled by invisible hands. The platter flew over her head and she yelled in surprise, landing on her bum.  
  
“Ow,” she whimpered and thought, What a day.  
  
There was a heavy clanging noise from around the next corner. A knight, running to her aid. He rounded the corner and she saw him; tall with thick, black armour. He was wearing his helmet and she could not see his face.  
  
“My lady!” he said in alarm, voice muffled by the helmet. “Are you hurt?”  
  
“I’m not a lady,” was her reply, as she gingerly manoeuvred herself so she was kneeling instead of sitting on her backside.  
  
He placed a gloved hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Take it easy.”  
  
“I’m fine,” she told him honestly, with a little titter. Honestly, knights these days, she thought; a woman isn’t made of glass.  
  
He stood and held out his hand to help her up. She took it and slowly made it to her feet, smoothing out the back of her dress with her other hand.  
  
For a moment the knight still held hers, then his gloved thumb lightly grazed her knuckles before dropping it. “My lady,” he said again, bowing slightly. “I mean, Miss – “  
  
She smiled at him encouragingly. “Yes?” And oh, she hadn’t meant for her voice to sound so wispy and breathless.  
  
“I – remember you,” he stammered. “You were with Prince Arthur, that day – “  
  
She frowned thoughtfully and looked to the side. She was rarely with the prince; her lady was Morgana.  
  
“... I was there, with Prince Merlin,” the black knight continued, “and I saw you. I thought – “ Then he stopped on his words, as if marking a place in a book.  
  
Gwen still had no comprehension. She raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps, if you took off your helmet...?”  
  
He dipped his chin and grabbed his helmet , pulling it off slowly.  
  
Before Gwen was a handsome man with thick dark hair and brown eyes. He gave her a small smile and her heart melted like hot wax. Her lips parted to say something – anything – but all she could do was exhale.  
  
He looked at the floor, eyes scanning the fruit and bread that had scattered when Gwen had fallen. “I’ll help you clean this up,” he offered.  
  
“No!” she exclaimed, waving her hands at him. “Do not bother yourself, dear knight. It was my fault – “  
  


*

  
  
Merlin stretched, enjoying sitting in Arthur’s large, warm bed. Baruch took his empty platter and set it on the table.  
  
“A bath, my lord?” asked Baruch.  
  
Merlin sighed out of his stretch. “Sounds delightful. Then I suppose we are due in court for further negotiations.” He turned back the blankets and got out of bed, slipping his feet into his boots to avoid walking on the cold stone floor.  
  
Baruch nodded, hesitated, then asked, “For your bath – may I use - ?”  
  
“Use magic if you must,” Merlin replied, “but for Avalon’s sake, don’t let Arthur find out.”  
  
Baruch lifted his palms to the room, and cleared his throat –  
  
The door burst open and Lady Vivian flounced in, entering in a whirlwind of white satin and lace and golden, bouncy curls. “Where’s Arthur?” she demanded imperiously, looking first to a dumbstruck Baruch, then to Merlin. “Where is he? I wish to see my love!”  
  
“Your love?” Merlin repeated, incredulously. “He is not your love – not now, not ever!”  
  
She marched right over to him, face inclined towards his. “He is my love!” she declared. Then she pushed past Merlin and crawled onto the bed, moaning and groaning and sniffing the pillows and sheets.  
  
“Ugh,” said Merlin. Then – “Get out of my room, this instant – “ Then he swallowed and looked away as she climbed off the bed again. “You’re not even dressed!”  
  
“Nor are you!” said Lady Vivian gesturing at Merlin’s shift and bare, pale legs. “And this is not your room, it is Arthur’s!”  
  
“It is my room, and Arthur’s,” defended Merlin, “because Arthur and I are engaged to be married!”  
  
Her jaw dropped open in angry surprise. “You are not!”  
  
Merlin huffed. “I am!”  
  
“Not!”  
  
“Am!”  
  
“It was announced last night,” Baruch butted in. He was looking at Lady Vivian with wide eyes and a raised eyebrow, as if she were the stupidest woman he had ever seen. “Were you blind and deaf that day?” He glanced at Merlin. “I’ll go get Sir Lancelot,” he said, then added with a mutter as he left the room, “Wasn’t he meant to be guarding the door?”  
  
“I need you to leave,” Merlin told her, firmly.  
  
“Arthur is my love!” she said, again. “I shall marry him instead of you, and no one shall stop us! I’ll duel you for his hand,” she added quickly, as the light of a new idea shone in her eyes.  
  
“You’re not wearing any gloves,” he reminded her. “And I’m no knight – “ but his voice caught in his throat when he saw her pull a stick from her bodice.  
  
“Huh,” said Merlin.  
  
Lancelot, Guinevere and Baruch came into the room. They stopped short. Lancelot stared at the stick in Lady Vivian’s hand warily. “What is that?” he asked.  
  
Baruch said, “That’s a – “  
  
“- Wand,” Vivian supplied, smirking at Merlin all the while. Merlin swallowed. “If I throw this wand, and the other sorcerer touches the wand before it hits the ground – “  
  
“- then the two sorcerers must duel,” Baruch continued, breathless, “to the death.”  
  
“How did you even get one of those?” Merlin asked her.  
  
“Laws against magic aren’t so strict where I’m from, lover stealer!”  
  
“To the death...” Lancelot whispered, in fear. Behind him, Guinevere pressed fingers to her mouth.  
  
Baruch grabbed Merlin’s arm. “I beg you, my lord,” he said, “do not drop the wand.”  
  
Merlin bit his lip as Vivian lifted the object. “She is trying to take Arthur away from me – “  
  
Vivian’s elegant fingers opened, and she threw the wand in the air. It arched gracefully – five pairs of eyes watching it spin – and then landed, finally in Merlins open palm.  
  
Then Merlin let it roll over his fingers. It dropped to the floor with a clatter.  
  
Silence, then –  
  
“Aha!” crowed Vivian, while Lancelot groaned and Baruch whispered, “Oh no, you’ve bloody gone and done it now, haven’t you, sire.”  
  
Vivian bared her teeth at Merlin, eyes wild. “Now we must go to the ring and DUEL FOR MY LOVE! And I will WIN!”  
  
“Yeah, maybe you should get dressed first,” Baruch suggested, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Er yes,” she said. “Come, Guinevere! I must dress. Then I shall win my love and kill my opponent!” She left the room, Guinevere following, hesitantly. A look passed between her and Lancelot, and then she was gone.  
  
Baruch stomped over to Merlin’s trunk and threw it open with a hissed magic word. “Sire, you disappoint me. Oh, oh, wait til Archimedes hears about this! He’ll breathe fire on you!“  
  
“Can’t be much worse than what the king will do when he finds out,” Lancelot observed, hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. He gave Merlin a sympathetic look though.  
  
“My father will understand,” replied Merlin, soft and unsure. “It is my destiny to be by Arthur’s side.”  
  
Lancelot blinked. “I meant King Uther, my lord.”  
  
“Oh,” said Merlin. He sat on the bed, feeling sorry for himself, only to be tutted at by Baruch, who gestured for him to stand up again so he could be dressed. Lancelot looked away from Merlin, polite, as Baruch dressed him: dragon hide trousers, red tunic, leather vest and vambraces. Over these, Merlin wore a simple, dark robe with bell sleeves, which flared open at the hips. After, Baruch floated a wooden box from Merlin’s trunk. It was long and thin and covered in intricate patterns. Merlin recognised it immediately and shook his head no.  
  
Baruch gave him a stern look in return. He opened the box, presenting it to his master. Inside was Merlin’s wand: long, light and indented with the image of a dragon. Merlin shook his head again and said, “I won’t. Lady Vivian is just a girl and I’m a level one sorcerer. I don’t need it.”  
  
Baruch narrowed his eyes but it was Lancelot who spoke. He said, “Sire, we know nothing of this Lady Vivian. The fact that she even owns an object of magical potency worries me. What if she’s stronger than we realise?”  
  
Merlin huffed out a small laugh. “I’m still stronger. But,” he added when it seemed as if both knight and servant would protest more, “if it will make you feel better, I’ll take it.” He took the wand from its box and tucked it into his vambrace. “Happy now?”  
  
Baruch sighed dramatically in relief. “Very, my lord.”  
  
Thankfully Lady Vivian had dressed, and she stood in the centre of the ring where most sword tournaments were held. She was still and tall, chin lifted. Already there was interest – small smatterings of people came to sit in the arena. Trickler was at the side with the hourglass, grinning, and Merlin stepped into the ring.  
  
“Here ye, here ye!” Trickler exclaimed to the small, curious crowd, opening his arms wide. “Welcome to the battle between lady and dragonlord - !”  
  
“And the lady will win her love!” Vivian interrupted, eyes wide and a bit manic. “She will crush this dragon boy and marry Prince Arthur!”  
  
There was a smattering of confusion and curiosity from the crowd. Merlin looked to the side and saw that Morgana, Morded, Morgause and Arthur were approaching the royal seating area. Arthur gave Merlin an exasperated look. “Merlin,” he shouted across the arena, “what are you doing?”  
  
“That’s what I’d like to know!” Morgause shouted angrily, huffing and puffing and getting into a right fury. “Vivian, what - !”  
  
“MY PRINCE!” shouted Vivian suddenly, picking up her skirts and running the distance to the royal stands. More and more people were filtering into the arena, looking on and murmuring in interest. Vivian got to the barrier and tried to climb over it. “I LOVE YOU ARTHUR,” she gushed, “AND WE SHALL BE MARRIED AND HAVE FIVE CHILDREN – “  
  
Merlin marched over. Morgana was saying, “Mordred, perhaps you ought not to watch,” and Mordred replied, “But I want to _see!_ ” and Morgause was shouting, shrilly, “Your love? _Your love?_ What about – about your OTHER love!”  
  
“What other love?” said Vivian snidely, half-hanging off the barrier.  
  
“Merlin,” Arthur breathed, when Merlin was close, “as the saner of the two – though not by much – I have to ask – “  
  
“Lady Vivian has challenged me to a sorcerer’s duel to the death,” answered Merlin, lips tight, “and I accepted.”  
  
There was a moment where Arthur’s eyes widened and his face went through an array of almost comical odd and incredulous looks. “Why would you even – why – what are you - ?”  
  
“She said you were her true love, and that she wants to marry you,” said Merlin, and he felt himself go a bit breathless with jealousy and anger. He stepped forward and looked Arthur straight in the eye, face upturned towards him, and told him, “You are my betrothed. You are meant to marry _me._ ”  
  
Arthur was clearly stunned. Then the expression was wiped from his face with a twist of his mouth and an exaggerated eye-roll. “You _really_ are a total – “  
  
Then Vivian grabbed Arthur’s arm, Merlin grabbed Vivian’s shoulders and Morgause grabbed Vivian’s other arm. They were stuck in a tug of war for a moment, until Vivian let go of Arthur and the barricade, fell to the dirt, stood up again and shouted, finger pointed at Merlin:  
  
“ _ICKTHEH BEBEYO THIAT THENOU SIET!_ ”  
  
Water fell on Merlin’s head and he winced at the cold temperature. Vivian crowed in triumph and ran around the ring, arms flailing in the air, singing, “I win! I win! I win!”  
  
“Now, now, Lady Vivian,” said Trickler from some metres away, wiggling his index finger from side to side, “I have not yet turned the hourglass, so the match has not started.”  
  
Vivian stopped and pouted. “Oh, pooey,” she said.  
  
Merlin stepped forward. “Keep away from her!” Morgause hissed sharply and she vaulted over the barricade, shoved past Merlin and strode to Vivian.  
  
Morgause held Vivian’s face in her cupped hands, for a moment, murmured some gentle words, and then Merlin heard Vivian protest – something about wanting to fight for her love – but finally Vivian went to the stands, climbed over the wall and draped herself all over Arthur’s side.  
  
Merlin clenched his jaw.  
  
Morgause turned slowly - she and Merlin glaring at each other all the while - and they stepped into a challenging line; face-to-face and several metres apart. There was a good amount of space to the side and behind them. Morgause’s lips thinned even more and Merlin kept his eyes locked on hers.  
  
Then the lady Morgause pointed at Arthur. “Arthur Pendragon, a great destiny awaits you. The battle for your soul – “ and here her finger went from Arthur in the crowd, to Merlin in front of her – “is about to begin.”  
  
Her eyes flashed gold and she flung her hand to the side with a rapid gesture – the magic hit Merlin square in the chest, winding him, and he was flung in the air so hard he spun, airborne, and smashed into the barrier. He grabbed on to it instinctively, and wheezed.  
  
From the other side Arthur crossed his arms and looked unimpressed. Vivian laughed mockingly. “Please tell me this won’t be over before it’s even begun,” said Arthur, as he tried and failed to shake Vivian off.  
  
“It won’t,” Merlin choked.  
  
Arthur gave Merlin a sincere look, then, and said quietly, “You don’t have to do this, Merlin; you don’t have to prove anything to me. Though I understand if you are doing this to prove something to yourself.”  
  
Meanwhile, Morgause was having a small argument with Trickler over the hourglass. Trickler still hadn’t turned it. Morgause then suddenly punched the servant in the face and grabbed the hourglass, turning it and then slamming it back onto the table. Then she stroke purposefully to where Merlin was hanging off the barrier.  
  
“Got to go,” Merlin muttered, and turned around to face his opponent.  
  
Morgause’s eyes flashed gold again as she marched forward. Water swirled around her and Merlin braced himself by magicking a transparent shield.  
  
“MERLIN!” someone was yelling from the stands. It was his mother. But he couldn’t look at her, because Morgause moved her arms around gracefully and threw long, snake-like pillars of water at him. He flung the shield up hard, but even so he felt the impact of the water in his wrists. He gritted his teeth. The pillars deflected and hit the stands. The crowd cried out – excited, awestruck, and a little bit afraid.  
  
Merlin exhaled and glared at Morgause. Hunith shouted, “Merlin, remember the teachings: priestesses of the isle are water elementals – “  
  
“And dragonlords are air elementals,” Morgause replied snidely, giving his mother a cool, side-along look. She smirked. “Don’t worry, my queen, I will know how to exploit his weaknesses.” And then as quick as a flash she summoned leather ropes that whipped through the air, wrapping around his wrists and then _pulling_ tight. Merlin stood his ground as best he could, feet dragging forward in the dirt. He grabbed the ropes and incanted a quick spell in his mind - lightning bolts shot from his hands down the ropes, striking her, causing her to yell out in pain and to stumble. The ropes dissolved.  
  
“Merlin...” he heard Arthur say hesitantly, from the stands. Morgause threw two knives in Merlin’s direction and Merlin dodged both. The knives imbedded themselves in the barrier. Arthur called his name again.  
  
Merlin clenched his hands into fists and thought about stopping time and stopping the world and wishing for a moment as delicate as the point of a needle. His eyes fluttered closed and he tilted his head to the side, repeating the words of the spell over and over in his head.  
  
He opened his eyes.  
  
Everything was frozen still.  
  
Silence.  
  
He turned on the spot and strode over to Arthur. He didn’t know how long he could hold the spell for; it was a very powerful one. He was happy though, he had managed to cast a high level spell without gestures or words. Then he got to Arthur and touched his cheek.  
  
Arthur blinked, then blinked again when he had looked around and found that everyone had been frozen in time.  
  
Merlin pulled his hand away from Arthur’s warm cheek. He whispered, urgently, “I don’t know how long I can hold this spell so I’ll be quick. But I have to tell you, Arthur – “ He gripped the barrier and looked into Arthur’s eyes, catching them and holding. “I’m not doing this to prove anything to myself; I know my limits. I need you...” He inhaled shakily. “I need you to think about why I’m doing this, to figure it out for yourself. And then when you’ve realised, I want you to think about it. I want to you to think about it hard, _before you decide to leave me._ ”  
  
Arthur’s eyes scanned Merlin’s face: eyes, nose, mouth. He sighed a little, seemingly resigned and tired. “I’m not going to leave you, Merlin.”  
  
Merlin felt warmth spread from his heart, blossoming like a flower in his chest. He smiled at Arthur, sincere, and Arthur gave him one back, like a small secret gift. Then in a sudden, flurry of movement, Arthur lifted his chainmail and gripped his own tunic in two hands, and ripped a strip from the bottom.  
  
Merlin was horrified. “Don’t – “ he half-whined, “You’ll ruin it...”  
  
“Don’t worry,” said Arthur, smirking, “ _you_ can mend it.”  
  
Merlin raised an eyebrow. “I’m not your servant.”  
  
“No,” Arthur agreed, leaning forward over the barrier and fastening the red slip on the ties of Merlin’s leather vambrace, under his sleeve. “But,” he added, once he was done and had pulled his hands away, “you’ll be my wife.”  
  
Merlin huffed out a short laugh, and in slow motion, everyone was awoken from the spell as it broke. “Wish me luck,” said Merlin, turning and striding away. If Arthur wished him luck, he didn’t hear.  
  
Morgause stepped forward. “Are you ready to be defeated, Prince Merlin?”  
  
“I have seen my future, Lady Morgause,” Merlin replied, speaking of the prophecies of dragons and the ancient images of Emrys on tapestries and inside crystals, “and I do not die today.” He flipped his wand out from his sleeve and with a spiral of wind magic, the wand transformed into a long staff tipped with a large blue crystal. From this hand his clothes quickly transformed: the links and plates of silver armour folded over themselves, appearing and overlapping each other, over his arm and up, folding and placing themselves over his chest, neck, back, stomach, legs, then finally his boots were transformed too. He turned slightly, both hands holding the heavy staff, and came into an attacking stance. There were excited murmurs from the crowd.  
  
Morgause smiled at him, sinister. “That’s more like it,” she said, challenging, and whipped out her own wand. It too transformed into a staff, also with a blue stone. Her own dress transformed to thick armour, and she said to Merlin, nonchalant, “This kind of weapon is the hardest to use. This shows great courage, and so I shall use the same.”  
  
There was a second where the crowd held their breath, collectively, and Merlin and Morgause studied each other, approving. Then her eyes flashed gold and with the wave of her staff, she conjured knives. They sped towards him, but he was ready – with a spin of his own staff the knives change direction, sailing into the air and transforming into sparrows. They arched above the stands, flittering here and there, too many of them and too many directions for the sorceress to follow, and so she floundered a little as they came towards her.  
  
But she was still trained. And so with spinning staff in hand, she danced, eyes glowing hot and expression determined and a little fearful, lips parted. Instead of the birds hitting her, they flew around her, flying faster and faster. What was left was not birds, but hot, fire energy. The balls of fire were as large as melons, and one after the other they were thrown in Merlin’s direction, and one after another Merlin deflected them – with staff, then left hand, then staff, then left hand. Each ball landed on the ground or barrier, creating small fires. There was screaming from the crowd but it was ignored by the duellists.  
  
She finished throwing fire, and Merlin used her small pause to summon wind. Morgause had been right, with wind magic Merlin was _good_ , almost as good as his father. With magic he built a wind storm with himself at the eye of it. It grew larger and larger, ripping wood from the barrier. It was loud, but Merlin still caught Morgause’s ecstatic laugh.  
  
Through the storm he saw her conjure one of her own, this of water. The sky rained, heavy, fuelling her whirlpool and now people _were_ screaming, running for their lives. With his left hand he threw wind at her, aiming to use the dirt to rip at her skin. But she would have none of that, and with her left hand she threw water. Wind and water impacted in the middle of the ring.  
  
His right hand held the staff in a hard grip. He summoned the dragon of wind, and it emerged above him, transparent, and it roared. Morgause summoned a wall of water behind her, and from the wall Leviathan emerged, howling, made of water but still menacing. Distantly, Merlin knew that the stands were destroyed. He knew Arthur would be safe, and he hoped his mother had gotten away in time.  
  
The water was pouring so hard that the place was flooded, water almost level to his knees. The magic dragon flew at the water leviathan, and they crashed in the space between, causing an explosion so large Merlin had to throw up a magical shield. In a fit of inspiration, Merlin threw down his staff, floated into the air, lifted both hands to the sky and summoned the largest bolt of lightning he could.  
  
Morgause caught on just in time. She yelled in surprise, jumped into the air, propelled by magic, and the lightning hit, frizzling through the water, then away.  
  
A pause. Heavy breathing.  
  
They both dropped into the water at the same time.  
  
“Avalon help me,” Morgause swore angrily. “You summoned _lightning_ , Prince Merlin. In _water_. You could have killed me!”  
  
Merlin narrowed his eyes. “I thought that was the point.”  
  
The tournament ring and stands were completely destroyed. No one was around except for Arthur and Vivian, standing on a raised platform that had somehow survived, a few metres away. The water was dispersing and was no longer too deep to see the bottom.  
  
Morgause stared at him wide-eyed. Then with an ugly twist of her features, she yelled through clenched teeth and ran at him, staff transforming mid-run into a large sword, obviously heavy by how the sharp tip was dragged through the mud. Merlin glanced to the side – he had dropped his own staff, which was probably back as a wand now. In his fear he forgot how to summon it to his hands – and it was too late, now, Morgause was close and was arching her sword up so as to swing it down upon him –  
  
And then, as sudden as the wind, Arthur was _there_ , in front of Merlin, back to him, and his own sword was up and locked with hers. Arthur was guarding Merlin, breathing harshly from his sprint across the mud.  
  
Morgause stared at Arthur, and Merlin stared at Arthur too, standing still and resolute between them. She pulled her sword away from his then stared at it as if it had betrayed her. Arthur exhaled loudly, as if relieved and lowered his sword.  
  
Then he was barrelled to the side by Vivian. She hugged him around the middle. “Oh my love!” she gushed, and Merlin growled a little under his breath. “Did I win? Shall we marry, now? Ahhh - !” she screamed as Morgause grabbed her waist and pulled her away.  
  
Morgause quickly cupped Vivian’s face. “Why is he your love?” she demanded, as Vivian squealed and squirmed, trying to get away from Morgause’s strong grip. “What about _me_? Did I not prove myself worthy enough today?”  
  
Merlin looked away from the raw emotion in this strong warrior’s face, and instead turned to Arthur. “Thank you,” he said, quietly.  
  
Arthur nodded. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. Merlin’s face was hot.  
  
Morgause stopped talking, and Vivian stopped squealing, and Merlin and Arthur looked at the women, wondering over the sudden silence.  
  
Morgause and Vivian were kissing, clinging to each other. Arthur turned away. Then cleared his throat and punched Merlin in the shoulder to do the same.  
  
Merlin mumbled, “Oh right,” and too turned his back. The two princes stared at the castle as behind it, the grey clouds melted away, the sun breaking through. Then Merlin said, “Your father’s going to kill me.”  
  


*

  
  
“I am going to kill you,” King Uther said later, as the four came into the main hall, wet and muddy. “All of you.”  
  
Despite her limp hair and muddy dress, Lady Morgause strode forward and looked at each of the other occupants of the room: Kings Uther, Olaf and Alined, Queen Mab, along with Trickler, who was cowering in a corner.  
  
“And I shall kill you, King Uther, if it is you whom enchanted Lady Vivian.”  
  
Uther looked away, hands on his hips under his long, red cloak. “What nonsense.”  
  
Morgause turned away and curtsied to King Olaf. “Your daughter was under the influence of a love spell, your majesty.”  
  
“What – “ said Olaf.  
  
“As King Uther said,” King Alined boomed, loudly, to the room, “this is utter nonsense. The witch and warlock should be locked away and then burned at the stake first light!”  
  
“I agree,” said Uther. “Guards!”  
  
Guards came forward and grabbed Merlin and Morgause, dragging them towards the door, grips tight and bruising. “Father!” Arthur and Vivian exclaimed, at the same time.  
  
“I believe Lady Morgause,” Arthur spoke up. Uther looked at the sincerity in his son’s eyes, then waved at the guards to pause. Arthur continued, “Since this morning Lady Vivian has been acting oddly, calling me her love and trying to get me to marry her.”  
  
“Arthur,” said King Uther, exasperated, “how can you possibly know if her behaviour is odd or not, seeing as you’ve only known her for less than two days?”  
  
“I – “ Arthur stammered. “When we first met, she hated me.”  
  
“And now?”  
  
“Oh, I hate him,” Vivian piped up venomously, sneering and attempting to pull Morgause from the guards’ hands, “he is a spoilt, useless prince.”  
  
King Uther turned to her. “And you were under a spell before?”  
  
Vivian gasped dramatically and tears welled in her eyes. “Oh! Yes, I hardly knew myself, your majesty, hardly knew myself!”  
  
Queen Mab stepped forward then, from the shadows of the arches and the conversation, and said, “Often a powerful love spell is wrought by use of a lock of hair, my kings and subjects.”  
  
“And you would know,” murmured King Uther, looking at her with suspicion.  
  
She widened her eyes at him, innocently. “Yes, I would.” She strode over to Arthur, gracefully, and curtsied. “My prince. Did anyone take a lock of your hair?”  
  
“No, not that I...” But then he did remember the night before last: Trickler had been serving him wine. “Except for the night of my engagement,” he answered, finally. “I felt Trickler pull hair from my head.” He rubbed the spot absently.  
  
“Trickler!” Alined boomed. “How dare you do such a thing!”  
  
“Guards,” King Uther commanded, with a wave of his hand, “take all three of them away – “  
  
“Father!”  
  
“- sorcery is not permitted in my kingdom. Take them to the dungeons.”  
  
The guards holding Merlin gripped tighter and pulled him away from the door. Lady Morgause went with her head held high, and Trickler was stuttering, “Sire, I – “ as guards grabbed him by the scruff.  
  
“Merlin was only trying to protect what he believes to be his,” Arthur was explaining to his father, with a longing look at Merlin as he was taken away. “Lady Morgause, likewise.”  
  
“Arthur, for all we know, Lady Morgause had cast the spell on Lady Vivian herself – “  
  
“I would never!” Lady Morgause declared as she was dragged through the double doors. “If I wanted to challenge the prince of dragonlords to a duel to the death, I would have done so myself!”  
  
“Yes,” Uther considered, tilting head to the side, “but would Prince Merlin have accepted your challenge?” Neither Morgause nor Merlin could reply to this as the double doors were shut in their faces and they were half-dragged down the corridor along with Trickler.  
  
It didn’t take long for them to get to the dungeons and be thrown in the same cell. The guard locked the door with a metallic click, and he was gone.  
  
Merlin found himself breathing harshly. He looked at Morgause side-along; she was staring at the lock. “I know Uther implied that I would be too cowardly to accept your challenge,” he told her quickly. She glared his way. “But in a way he was right. If you had challenged me to a duel, I would have said no.”  
  
She snorted and turned away, investigating the walls and corners. Trickler had found a bit of straw in the corner and had sat himself upon it, head in his hands. She said to Merlin, low, facing away from him, “Yet you would challenge a mediocre girl, who’d only had a day’s magical training?”  
  
Merlin raised his eyebrows. “A day’s training...? So _you_ were the one who gave her the wand?”  
  
Morgause glanced over her shoulder. She seemed sad. “A gift.”  
  
“Arthur was right,” Merlin explained. “I only accepted her challenge to protect what is mine. If you were to challenge me, it would be because you wanted to spite me, not because you wanted Arthur.”  
  
She turned to him and looked him up and down, eyes unreadable. “How do you know? Perhaps I _do_ want Arthur – oh, don’t look at me like that, Emrys.” She rolled her eyes. “Queen Mab, Lady Isolde and I are high priestesses of the old religion, and as you know, keepers of the crystal of Neahtid, seeing as you dragonlords stole it from us.“ She narrowed her eyes.  
  
Merlin shook his head at her. “The priestesses of the old religion asked the dragonlords to keep it safe during the Purge – “  
  
Her eyes flashed. “And then refused to give it back!”  
  
“You have it back now, don’t you?” Merlin challenged, arms spread open.  
  
“Yes, well, you’re lucky to have such a _generous_ king – “ She stopped abruptly and closed her eyes, visibly relaxing. Merlin crossed his arms. “We have long known of Arthur’s destiny,” she continued, calmer now, “that he will one day be king of all Albion. What we _don’t_ know is if he’ll be a good, kind king.”  
  
“He will be,” said Merlin, with absolute certainty.  
  
She was speechless for a moment, considering Merlin and his words. “Oh?” she said. “Are you going to marry him and make sure he’ll be good?”  
  
“I don’t need to, he’s already got the heart of a good king.” He nodded, though, and added, “I’ll be there for him, always.”  
  


*

  
  
Arthur couldn’t sleep. In the early hours of the morning, he finally gave up and went down to the dungeons. The guards gave him wary look and said nothing.  
  
Merlin was fast asleep, curled in his robe and some hay, under a blanket he must have conjured himself. Arthur stared at him for a long time – at the curl of his dark hair and the fall of his lashes on his cheek. Turning away, he heard a shuffle in the cell and looked back.  
  
Merlin was awake, blue eyes bright in the shadows. “Hey,” said Merlin, quietly.  
  
“Hey,” croaked Arthur, and swallowed. He wanted to say, thank you for fighting for me. He wanted to say, I’m glad you’re alright. He said, “You’ll be let out today. And don’t worry – you won’t be burnt at the stake.”  
  
Merlin smiled at him slowly and drowsily. “I know,” he told him quietly, “Lady Vivian visited Lady Morgause last night and told us.” He cleared his throat. “Got any food? All I could conjure was flowers.”  
  
“Uh, no, sorry,” Arthur answered. “Why didn’t you magic your way out of the cell?”  
  
Merlin shrugged, the blanket shuffling with the movement. “Didn’t want to cause even more trouble for you.”  
  
Arthur smiled before he could catch himself, then gave Merlin his best imperious look. “You know you destroyed the whole arena.”  
  
Merlin ducked his face under the blanket. “Sorry,” he said, voice muffled.  
  
At that moment Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristan came down the stairs and bowed to Arthur. Sir Lancelot said, “The kings are in the Great Hall, signing the treaty as we speak,” and Sir Tristan told the guards that the king has ordered the release of the prisoners.  
  
“I don’t understand,” Arthur told Lancelot, as behind him the guard unlocked the cell door. “It’s so early in the morning.”  
  
Sir Tristan came over and bowed again. “King Alined and King Olaf wish to leave as soon as possible, sire,” he replied for Lancelot. “They want to leave long before the sun is high.”  
  
“Well then,” said Arthur turning to Merlin as he stepped out of the cell, “let’s go.”  
  
By the time they got there, the kings, queens and other nobles were filtering out of the hall. “We missed it,” Merlin murmured low, so only Arthur could hear.  
  
Morgana came over, looking happy. “Where were you?” she asked Arthur, snidely. “You missed the whole ceremony.”  
  
Arthur and Merlin exchanged glances. “We’re sorry we missed it,” Arthur told her. “Was it worth it?”  
  
She lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “All the kings signed, with Queen Mab and Chieftain Aglain. They all applauded. It was...” She half-smiled, blasé. “...History making.”  
  
All the kings’ horses and all the kings’ men, and all the kings themselves and all the queens and the chieftain, too – they gathered in the courtyard, saying their last goodbyes to each other while servants loaded bags onto horses and dragons. Arthur said farewell to many; King Alined’s smile was pinched and King Cenred appeared bored. Aglain touched Arthur’s hands and face with warm fingers while beside them Morgana and Mordred embraced tightly. The druids were the first to leave, galloping their horses and unicorn up the forest path and disappearing into the woods.  
  
The priestesses of the Isle of the Blessed left, walking beyond the gates to their land ships in swirls of brightly coloured dresses. Queen Mab called for Lady Isolde, who was dawdling with Sir Tristan. As Mab put out a delicate hand, gesturing for Isolde to come, she looked to her side and saw Arthur watching. She gave him a private smile and a small curtsy. Lady Morgause gave Lady Vivian one last longing look, and then the priestesses were beyond the castle gates. Alined was gone. Olaf too left, with his reluctant daughter. She was saying, “I could at least visit the Isle of the Blessed, couldn’t I, Daddy? There are no men on the isle.”  
  
“I’m keeping you far away from temptation...” Olaf was saying. And then they were gone.  
  
King Cenred left with an imperious air, his entourage following closely behind.  
  
“You’ll come visit me soon, won’t you, Merlin?” Arthur heard Prince Vidar say, as he was getting on his horse.  
  
“Yes,” Merlin breathed, nodding reluctantly. Vidar smiled, then kicked his horse into movement, following his father and knights through the city gates.  
  
Merlin kept his eyes downcast for a moment, then turned his head and gave Arthur a look. There seemed to be a question in his eyes, so Arthur nodded at him, keeping his confidence despite not knowing the question. And Merlin smiled back. Then he ran across the courtyard and to his family.  
  
Arthur watched for across the stones as Merlin embraced his mother, then Archimedes. Then, after some awkward hesitance, he and his father embraced. Arthur saw, even where he was standing a few metres away, that King Balinor’s grip was tight on Merlin’s shoulders. Arthur slowly walked forward to say his goodbyes.  
  
He bowed and Queen Hunith kissed him on the cheek. King Balinor inclined his head. With one last goodbye to their son, they got onto their dragons by climbing onto the tails and then their backs, finally sitting themselves in the saddle.  
  
Merlin put his hand in Arthur’s, and then tilted his head so it was resting on his shoulder.  
  
“Take care,” Queen Hunith told them, “and we will see each other soon.”  
  
Arthur and Merlin waved as the dragons bounded into the air, flapping their great wings hard. All dragons left except one.  
  
Archimedes said, “I’m staying with you, sire.”  
  
Merlin lifted his head. “You can’t. King Uther hates dragons.”  
  
The dragon’s eyes moved, sly. He replied, “I suppose I’ll have to be a bird. Come to us after dark. We shall wait for you in the valley.”  
  
Arthur pursed his lips. “We?”  
  
“I can barely be away from Balthamos for a day,” Baruch piped up from behind them. Arthur looked over his shoulder at him. “I think we can persuade him to be bird-like.”  
  
“I’ll let them know,” promised Archimedes. “As I understand it, Romulus is looking forward to being a raven.” He bowed to his masters, then turned and flew into the air.  
  
Back in their room, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and decided to enjoy this moment of peace and quiet. Merlin must have sensed his mood, for he said nothing and sat down on a dining chair.  
  
Arthur looked out his window and saw people below, back to their hustle and bustle and work and chores. “Will you miss them?” Arthur asked Merlin of his parents.  
  
“Yes,” was the answer. Arthur heard him get up and walk forward. He stopped next to Arthur and Arthur felt him watching. “But I have you,” said Merlin, eventually. Arthur turned his face to look at him. Merlin’s eyes were wide and sincere, his lips parted. “And I have Lancelot, and Baruch. And tonight we’ll go get Archimedes.” He smiled. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
Merlin lifted his hand and touched Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur gently pulled away, rubbing his eyes and walking a few steps further in the room. He stopped, and turned to face Merlin properly. He said, chest tight, “It’s against our laws for two men to lie with one another.”  
  
Merlin’s eyes widened for a second, then he ducked his head and laughed softly. When he looked up again, his smile was fading and there was a light blush on his cheeks. “Arthur,” he began, voice soft, “I know it’s hard for you to understand how I feel, but – “ He paused, and Arthur wondered where he was going with this. He got his answer when finally Merlin said, “I love you.”  
  
Arthur inhaled sharply. “Merlin – “  
  
The dragonlord came over. “I love you like a brother, like a friend,” he told him passionately. “Marriage is more than just about...” He made a vague gesture. “It’s about partnership. You are going to be a great king one day, Arthur – “  
  
“And you,” said Arthur, quickly.  
  
Merlin nodded. “By ourselves we could be great kings. Imagine what we could achieve, together, the two of us.”  
  
Arthur looked into Merlin’s eyes, saw the love there, the sincerity, and understood. He pressed his lips together and gave him a small smile, nodding. Merlin returned it.  
  
Arthur cleared his throat and waved his hand. “Undress me.”  
  
Merlin leaned back on his heels and gave him an odd look. “Pardon?”  
  
“I have patrol, and I need to get dressed.” He folded his arms over his own shoulders and pulled at the back of his tunic, pulling it over his head. “Come on Merlin, I haven’t got all morning.”  
  
“I’m not your – “ Merlin spluttered “ – _wife._ ”  
  
“Just get on with it,” said Arthur, chucking his tunic at Merlin’s head and starting on the ties of his trousers.  
  


*

  
  
While many were enjoying the new quiet, Guinevere’s day had only just begun.  
  
All the linen in every room had to be stripped from the beds and taken to the laundry. All the flowers from the vases had to be thrown away along with the water. The fireplaces needed cleaning. There was sweeping and mopping. The windows needed wiping and so did the table tops.  
  
It was well after nightfall when she finally, after scrubbing at a guest room floor, declared herself done for the day.  
  
She carried the pail out from the room and into the corridor. It was heavy with dirty water, and she placed in on the floor, then leaned her shoulder against the wall to catch her breath.  
  
Hands closed over her eyes.  
  
She laughed, happy. “Tristan...” she warned, “I still have that dirty rag.”  
  
The hands pulled away. “Tristan?” asked the deep voice, from behind her. She spun around.  
  
Lancelot stood before her, in a pair of simple leather trousers and white tunic, ties undone. He made a vague hand gesture. “Are you, and Tristan...?”  
  
“Pardon? Oh!” She laughed. “Oh, no, he is my cousin.”  
  
“Cousin!” Lancelot repeated, handsome face breaking out into a grin. “Thank God – I mean, er, I mean – “  
  
She smiled at him, then dipped her head down, suddenly shy.  
  
“You have a beautiful laugh,” he told her, then cleared his throat. When she looked up, he was blushing a little, and staring at her with deep, brown eyes.  
  
“Gwen!” Morgana called from down the corridor. Guinevere turned and saw her lady striding down. She was dressed oddly for this time of night: in pantaloons, boots and a man’s tunic, fastened with a large belt. “I was looking for you.” She leant forward to Guinevere’s ear and whispered conspiratorially, “I overheard Arthur and Merlin talking about sneaking off to see the dragons.” She gave Lancelot a furtive look.  
  
He looked mildly uncomfortable. He bowed. “You would be right, my lady. We are about to leave.” He glanced at Guinevere. “I was going to invite Guinevere to come with us.”  
  
Morgana grabbed Guinevere’s hand and pulled her down the corridor. “Come Gwen! It is a long ride; you’ll have to borrow some clothes from me.”  
  
“I’ll wait for you at the north gate!” Lancelot called after them.  
  
Moments later, Guinevere and Morgana met up with Lancelot, leading mares behind them. Lancelot gave Guinevere an appreciative once-over, and she felt suddenly self-conscious of her legs and shapeless tunic. Lancelot took the hand not holding the reigns and led her further into the forest. “You look beautiful,” he told her, whispering into her ear so Morgana, behind them, didn’t hear. Guinevere smiled up into his face.  
  
Princes Arthur and Merlin were already on horseback, waiting in the small clearing. Arthur made an angry noise. “Lancelot, I don’t mind you bringing Guinevere, but did you have to bring _Morgana?_ ”  
  
“If you don’t let me come, I’ll tell Uther,” Morgana said immediately, climbing gracefully onto her horse, one leg on each side, as a man would ride. “I wish to meet the dragons.”  
  
Arthur harrumphed and turned his horse. Guinevere saw Merlin smile at her lady.  
  
Lancelot helped her onto her horse. When he was safely on his own, the five friends kicked their horses into movement, and they rode into the night.  
  
  
**End.**


End file.
